


A Roman Story I

by olympia_m



Series: The Roman Story [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:18:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 63,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olympia_m/pseuds/olympia_m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the reign of Commodus a gladiator finds love at the strangest places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Roman Story I

**Author's Note:**

> Repost with minor edits.  
> Notes on the story: most of the terms have been translated in English.  
> Dean and Sam are called Lucius and Gaius not after Augustus' adoptive sons (though I did think of them too), but after the main character in Apuleius' Golden Ass and his brother :):)  
> Also, I'm having some formatting issues, and I apologize for that - I don't know how to fix them at this point (even though I can see what the problem is). I'll try to do that when I have more free time.

“When I’m free again, I’ll never step inside an amphitheatre.” His brother chuckled. “As if.”  
Lucius sat down, feeling the weight of his body dragging him to the earth. “You fought well today,” Gaius said.  
“So did you.”

Gaius lowered his head. “But, is it enough?” He sat next to Lucius. “When I’m free, I’ll buy you.”  
Gaius groaned. “You would, wouldn’t you? And then you’ll keep me as your slave, so you can say ‘I told you so’ and ‘I’m making the decisions now’, right?”

“But, of course.” Gaius hit him. “That hurt.”  
It was said half-jokingly, and Gaius realised it moments later. “Should I call for a doctor? Are you well?”

“I’m fine. Nothing a massage won’t fix. Or a few hours of sleep.” Because, if he had to submit himself to the rough hands of the boy who pretended to be the masseur assigned to him, and who’d probably slept his way to that position, he’d... He didn’t know what he’d do, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.

His brother sighed. “You are the proudest man I know.” He put his hand on Lucius’ shoulder and pressed him slightly. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Lucius smiled the moment his brother ran up the seats and towards the staircase leading down. It would have been quicker to follow him, but he felt reluctant to move. The day’s heat had relented after the sunset, but the light had not yet faded. Below, Felix and Pinnas practiced how to feint and parry with wooden swords under the watchful eye of Symmachos.

It felt like a lifetime ago that he had signed up his rights and become part of Priscus' family, and took the first step on the way that brought him to Rome and the family of the Emperor's own gladiators. A lifetime ago when he had started training, much like those two. But unlike them, the feel and weight of a sword had not been foreign to him; only his sword before had been of metal, and not wood. And his father had expected him to join the army, and follow in his footsteps. For that reason his father had trained him, not so that he could rise in the ranks of the gladiators.

Sometimes, he wondered if he should feel resentment towards his brother. After all, if it hadn’t been for Gaius’ stupidity, neither of them would be there. But, what if he had joined the army, as his father had wanted? What if he had been sent to the frontiers? What if, what if, what if? What did it matter, what might have been, what could have been, what never happened?

At least here he was fed, and paid well, and women thronged to see him after each fight, when the darkness fell and no one could tell a senator’s wife from a whore.

“What are you laughing about?”

He turned around to face Saturnilos. He was grinning widely, and Lucius saw that he’d lost yet another tooth, a small injury to go with the one that was hidden behind a bandage around his calf. “Just thinking of men’s fortunes. I owe my lady Luck a cow.”

“Or a bull,” Saturnilos laughed and grasped his balls as he sat beside him. “Pinnas is getting better.” “He is.”  
“Felix has a longer reach.” “He does.”  
Saturnilos laughed again. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” “What?”  
“That every year they get younger and stupider? Look at that.”

“Symmachos will train the mistakes out of them. No one likes a bad gladiator.” “Least of all Caesar.”  
“I’m more concerned with the crowd. Caesar can be swayed by their shouts.” Lucius leaned back, watching the first stars on the sky. Was it today that he had killed a man just because he hadn’t fought as long, or as hard, as the crowd had expected? Or yesterday? Days followed one another with dreadful regularity.

The poor bastard had at least died like a man, putting his hands behind his back and showing his throat to Lucius, startlingly white beneath the gleaming bronze, shining with sweat. And when Lucius struck him, his body crumbled backwards, and his blood fell on Lucius’ thighs, and ran darkly in the sand.

Perhaps he owed Fortune no sacrifices this day.

Gaius panted behind them. He must have run the whole way. “Lucius,” he whined. “You shouldn’t sit like that. It strains the muscles.” Gaius pushed him forward. “You’re worse than them,” he complained as he started massaging Lucius’ shoulders, his big, wide hands covering most of Lucius’ back.

The only thing that made him feel a little better was the dark-haired beauty staring intently at him. Or his brother. But Lucius was certain that he'd be the one to sleep with her that night, not Gaius.

&*&*

Lucius woke up still feeling stiff. He half-opened his eyes, but he already knew he was alone. No woman would ever share his bed for a whole night, even if he was one of the few who had a room all to himself and didn't have to share with another. He wished it was because his bed was hard, and they were unused to it, but couldn't lie to himself. Not so early in the morning.

But he wouldn't think about it either. He stood up, stretched his arms and was at the door in two strides. When he opened the door, he knew that he'd find the amphitheatre before him, big and tall and grand, though not as grand or majestic as the Flavian one. Still, this was the one that impressed him the most. It was just so practical, and yet, there was still an entrance reserved for those of high rank, and seats reserved for them. Even there, in the training grounds, they were a spectacle.

If Fortune granted him his freedom, he'd definitely sacrifice something to her. Maybe set up an altar, so that others could share in his luck. No gifts from him to Nemesis: let other gladiators pray to her; he had no need for her retribution. He snorted, and opened the door.

Gaius was leaning on the rail, staring up. He turned to face him. "You're up." Lucius glared at him. Of course he was.  
"How you feeling?"

"Well…" He grinned, stretching again. "I didn’t get much sleep last night, but, apart from that, I feel fine." His brother grimaced. "You keep spending time with women and…"  
"And what? As if there's anything else to do here. And," he struck a pose, "would you blame them? When they see me, they go mad with lust, and my body is both the cause and the cure of their madness."

Gaius frowned, and looked disgusted. "You think nothing but that, do you?"

He laughed. "I'm not gonna sit around like you, doing nothing, or worse, telling them 'no' when they come  
knocking."

"You make me sick." "You're just jealous."  
Gaius rolled his eyes upwards. "Anyway," he said, obviously not wanting to talk about this anymore, "since you just woke up, you missed the great announcement."

"Ah. So that was that noise outside."

"Lucius," Gaius sighed. "Be serious for a change. Tonight we will perform for Titus Valerius Aelius Claudianus at his villa outside the city. The emperor himself may be there."  
"I'm impressed." Lucius yawned. "Wait. You mean, I have to work today? I was told this was my day off." Gaius grinned. "Yeah, I know. Tough." He turned around and towards his room. "I bet you regret fooling  
around last night with that doll," he muttered as he closed the door. "I heard that. And I don't regret it at all."  
Aniketos came out of his room, looking ill. "Have mercy. Do I have to hear you scream both night and day?" Lucius laughed.  
Aniketos groaned.

&*&*

Familiar as Lucius was with Rome, and engrossed in a discussion on whether it was best to be faithful to woman, as Aniketos claimed, or not, as he claimed, he didn’t pay any attention to the road leading from the barracks to the via Appia. It was only outside the Porta Capena that he stopped and stared at the temple of Honour and Virtue.

“One would think this was made for us,” he pointed out.

His brother snorted. “No one thinks there’s any honour in what we do. Nor any virtue in us.” “Do you believe that?” Aniketos asked them.  
Gaius shrugged. He went to study the statues of the Marcelli, lining the fa?ade of a tomb that was a true house of the dead.

“I do,” Lucius said. He looked around. “The tomb of the Scipios is nearby, let’s go have a look.”

Aniketos glanced at their trainer and manager. “Symmachos will say we’re wasting time.” Then he grinned. “Let’s.”

And so it went for a while, trying to see at which point Symmachos would say something instead of frowing and waiting for them to come back to the herd. After the tomb of the famed Scipios, conquerors of lands here and there, they stopped at the Temple of Mars, swearing to honour him properly, but after the Games (which God would let them be killed and lose a promised offering?). Then, there was the tomb of Priscilla, the wife of Abascantus, ‘a house, a true house’, as Statius had written, though Lucius didn’t tell Aniketos that. And so  
on, and so forth.

There were so many inscriptions he could read, and so many portraits he could look at before he got bored. All the men were wise, accomplished in the arts of war and peace. All the women were virtuous, true goddesses of the house. After a while, he didn’t even have to read the inscriptions to know what they said.

Although, the tomb of Cecilia Metella did impress him. It was more of a round tower, than a monument, standing tall and proud, making Lucius wonder if the woman herself had been a tall, rotund and proud woman. Perhaps one of those bored wives who bit their slaves when the poor sods didn't perform to their satisfaction.  
And when they finally arrived at the villa, they discovered that they still had a way to go before they reached the house. At least Symmachus gave them some time at the nymphaeum by the entrance. It was as big as some of the fountains one saw in the city, and just as lavishly decorated, with white and coloured marble shining coolly in the sunlight, and statues of nymphs and family members in niches. Yet, the largest statue was one of the divine Marcus, standing right in the middle of the structure, and looking down at them.

Lucius ignored him, and poured water over his head and chest, cleaning away some of the sweat and dust that clung to his body after such a walk. Then, he drank, refreshing himself, and kept avoiding the eyes of the statues above him. Neither these marble images, nor the people they represented knew anything about him, yet they made him feel small and dirty.

Gaius, next to him, showed no signs of such concerns. "It's nice to be able to wash up."

"Yes, wouldn't do to show up all dirty and dusty in front of our illustrious hosts," Aniketos snorted. "Show- offs," he muttered under his breath.

"You should be thanking them, and offering prayers to their name, for the gift of water," Symmachos said, hitting him lightly with a wooden stick.

"I know, I know," Aniketos replied, trying to sound apologetic. The moment Symmachos turned his back, he winked at Lucius.

Lucius nodded. Of course they were show-offs. And as they walked past the entrance and towards the villa, Lucius was even more convinced that their hosts were incorrigible and repetitive exhibitionists. "Now I know why they have a house so big. They'd never fit anywhere else, not with a name that long." Lucius snorted. "Titus Titius Titulus Titulinus."

Gaius bit back laughter. "Claudianus, Lucius."

"Yeah, well, whatever. It's a long name, no matter how you call it." He pointed towards a long building further down the road. "And it is a big house."

"That's not the house, Deimos," Aniketos told him. "It's probably…"

A gymnasium or even a hippodrome. "I know what it is. But any house that has its own porticoes? You have to admit, it's big." Lucius moved closer to Gaius. "Really, why do you think they have this villa? I thought they already had a house in the city."

Gaius snorted. "I thought you didn't even know their name," he muttered. "Maybe for the climate?" Aniketos laughed. "I don't get you. You're not a country bumpkin, are you?"  
"No, but…" Lucius shrugged. "I really don't see the purpose of these estates."

"It is not for us to question why the rich do what they do. Nor why they are rich," Symmachos said, hitting  
Lucius with his stick. It was a light hit, and the words stung more.

Lucius kept his eyes on the ground. One day, he'd be free. Dead or alive, he would be free.

&*&*

After all that, Lucius wasn’t interested in looking around anymore. He followed his brother around, feeling a little like a sacrificial animal. Every now and then the gleam of marble would make him look up, or the images on the mosaics would prove too tempting, but for the most part, he didn't care. Like being guided into a maze it felt, and he wished for a thread. But then Gaius would grin at him, and he'd stop wondering and wishing, and he'd follow.

Symmachos made them stop in a large courtyard. Sturdy Doric columns supported the upper floor and the garden with its soft-looking grass and the great statue of Hercules leaning on his club in the middle was framed by a continuous mosaic frieze. Little cupids played gladiators and charioteers, laughing and smiling. One would think that those who made this had never been in the arena, had never smelled sweat and blood and death. But the weapons looked real, and the chariots, and on the spina that divided the chariot course in  
two there were some of the statues and even the obelisk that one could see in the Circus Maximus. Lucius didn't look if the amphitheatre the cupids were supposed to be was the Flavian one; he'd had enough of that.

He looked around instead. Along one wall were the statues of the emperor and that of his father, the divine Marcus. To his right were the statues of a man in his prime, dressed in full armour and military cloak, a woman in a pale blue dress and a deep blue mantle, and of a young man in a purple-bordered toga. Claudianus and his family, then. To the right were statues of another man, this one old and wearing a purple- bordered toga, and a woman so covered up in her deep-red mantle one wondered how she managed to move. Claudianus' parents, then.

The lararium was at the narrow wall, and was a proper temple made of white marble, instead of a niche or just a painted image. Delicate Ionic columns supported a pediment filled with statues, Jupiter and Juno flanked by Minerva and Apollo. The images of the lares themselves were made of bronze, beautiful dancing boys with horns of plenty and paterae in their hands, as if they would offer a libation the moment they  
stopped prancing around. Between them stood the statue of the genius of the household, a calm, young man in a toga who looked like the most improbable guardian for the military-oriented Claudianus.

The other walls had no statues in front of them, making it easier to follow the marble patterns on them. There were benches, though, surrounding the courtyard, big, heavy marble ones with lions' legs and griffins' heads, and couches and chairs had been brought out, all for accommodating Claudianus' guests. Lucius wondered  
if their host was among them, but his brother tugged at his sleeve and pointed upwards.

There were torches burning at the edges of the balcony, their light preventing Lucius from seeing much of the people upstairs. As he focused, he could hear noises: people eating and drinking and laughing. "I bet Titus Titius is up there," he whispered.

Gaius snickered. Symmachos glared at them,  
"My Lord," Galvus, the man who had hired them, bowed down, even though he addressed the people in the upper floor. "As you have commanded, I have brought the emperor's finest gladiators."

"Introduce them, then," someone shouted and threw a chicken leg on Galvus' head.

Galvus tried to wipe his head as inconspicuously as possible. He started presenting each man to their host, sounding more servile and excited every time he spoke.

"Now, for something even more extraordinary. These two are brothers." Galvus, who had proven more disgusting than a provincial gladiator manager, pointed at Gaius and Lucius, and they had to step forward.

"This is the point where we pay for our food," Lucius muttered under his breath. Gaius sighed.  
"Don't say it, okay?" If Gaius apologized, or asked for forgiveness, Lucius would hit him. "We knew this could happen." Even if most people had learned the hard way not to dare pit one against the other.

Galvus made a bow to the people sitting around the courtyard, and then looked up towards his patron, their illustrious host, and his equally illustrious guests. "Brought low by Fortune, one brother, Phobos" and there Galvus pointed at Gaius, "joined the family of Priscus in the city of Pergamon. Soon after, his brother, Deimos, followed him into the same fate. Now, they are in Rome, for the Emperor's pleasure, that of the Gods, and now yours, my Lord."

Someone from above applauded. "Oh, a twist of Fate," Lucius heard a shrill female voice amidst the applause that followed that solitary first clap.

Twist of Fate, his ass. It was just Gaius, being remarkably stupid to get drunk and play dice at the same time. Everyone lost people they loved. They didn't find the slowest, or most humiliating, way to follow them to the grave. He thrust his chest out, and dared not look at Gaius.

A young lady smiled at him. Her clothes were made of the finest silks, and she was wearing in gold and gems what his father would have made in a year. Lucius decided that he would yield to her, if she asked for  
him. Those jewels would be his come morning.

"So, for your pleasure tonight, perhaps they could recreate the fight of Romulus and Remus?"

It wasn't exactly a question, but who would dare order Claudianus? Definitely not Galvus, the lowest of his clients. No man who depended on another for his daily bread had any pride, after all. Lucius felt bile rise up his throat. They were all disgusting.

Gaius stiffened next to him. "He means to the death," he whispered.

He didn’t doubt that people like Claudianus could get away with having them fight to the death, even if they belonged to the emperor. "As if." Lucius smiled, refusing to show any fear in front of these well-fed bastards who'd never had to raise a sword in fight, even a fake one.

"There's nothing like the tragedy of two brothers fighting each other," someone said from the balcony. An old man's voice.

A woman sighed. She sounded young, and Lucius wished that the lights weren't so bright around them in the courtyard, making the balcony looked even more steeped in darkness. He'd like to see the faces of these bloodthirsty cowards, who praised death in combat only when they were not involved in it.

"Like Eteocles and Polyneikes. 'Two brothers in one day, each shedding, unfortunate one, a kinsman's blood."

That voice was mature, deep, cultured, followed immediately by a woman's soft, round tones. "At once and as one, brothers beloved, to death you were, done. You came to the strife of the sword, and behold! You are both overthrown!"

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” another woman twittered, and then giggled.

Lucius tried not to roll his eyes. He was Lucius, not a hero of the past, and if he fought his brother, it would not be for a crown, or a city. It would be because of Fortune, or maybe because they had no choice.

"Indeed," the mature man said emphatically. "When two brothers fight, the world trembles, and waits with baited breath, for there is no greater crime, except perhaps that of killing one's own father, than that of two brothers killing each other."

"And when the crime is great, then so it's the pathos aroused in us who watch and listen. The motions of the two will bring to mind the tragic brothers, and, by seeing them, we will relive the fear and terror of those who watched them." Another man.

"And don't forget, we'll be reminded of our luck, and how to be righteous." A woman again, her voice tired, her words slurred. A drunken woman.

Galvus grinned. "Indeed. What will it be, my Lord? Remus and Romulus? A story to remind us of our fair city's beginning? Eteocles and Polyneikes, a story we all know?"

"Why not Castor and Pollux?" The voice was of a young man, but full of authority. "Not every pair of brothers fought each other. And what better example for us than that of the twin sons of Leda, who would rather die together than live apart?"

Lucius glanced at Gaius, but his brother was still and tense.

"But what is the fun in that?" the drunken woman asked petulantly.

"Is entertainment to be found only in death? Or tell me that this was not what you had intended when you suggested they fight," the young man asked, and Lucius saw Galvus shiver.

"As usual, you are taking everything far too seriously," the mature, cultured man said. "As usual, you think only of theatre and its pleasures."  
The young woman, the one with the soft voice, giggled. The young lady stopped staring at Lucius and looked  
upwards, as if her eyes could pierce the darkness. Then she sat down, gracefully, picked up a dried fruit and chewed it slowly. She stared at him again.

Lucius felt blood rush down and settle between his legs.

"What is wrong with theatre? It is a necessary part of life. For the poor, it means escape from their daily troubles. For the rich, it is a way to provide for the poor. For the educated," and here the mature man  
sounded like he was smirking, "it is a way to think. Through the plays we learn what we would not experience otherwise, and contemplate upon what we already know."

"Theatre is a waste of time that could have been spent contemplating, or doing." The young man spoke even more softly. "Active contemplation is perhaps the best, but…"

"Enough." The old man sighed. "I will not have this discussion now. I have drunk too much to follow your arguments. Castor and Pollux must have practiced fighting with each other before they fought against the sons of Aphareus for the sake of two girls."

Galvus heaved a deep sigh, and wiped sweat off his brow. "Castor and Pollux practicing, then, if that is what my Lord wishes to see."

Lucius winked at the girl. 'Later,' he mouthed, and she smiled again.

&*&*

Fighting against Gaius was better than fighting against strangers. They knew each other well. They knew how to pretend that they struggled. They knew how to provide entertainment for bloodthirsty fools. And the fools around them had been satisfied. They had gasped and applauded at all the right moments and when Claudianus declared he had been sated, they gave them gifts of gold and silver, and laurel crowns, as if they had been victorious at the games. Fools.

After that, a pretty slave girl guided them to the baths. Lucius had never been to a house so big that had its own bath-house, but the girl laughed. "And this is not the only one," she told him.

If this was but one of the bath-houses, how would the others be? For they changed in a high-ceilinged room, with walls covered with paintings of athletes and gods resting in a garden, and then were led into a room with a pool big enough for twenty people. There, everything was covered in marble, from the floors to the walls, and a seascape mosaic made of the tiniest cubes was at the bottom of the pool with the lukewarm water. A beautiful Aphrodite crouched in a corner and looked coyly behind her back as she pulled her hair up, letting the eyes feast on her delicate profile, the smooth curves of her body, her soft, yet firm breasts.

The girl laughed again, and then made him sink into the pool, where she cleaned off the sweat from his body. When he got out, she wiped him and oiled him with soft, tender hands. He noticed Gaius, faced open and relaxed, smiling, under the hands of another girl. Lucius smiled. His brother really should get himself a  
woman soon. Celibacy wasn't good for him.

When they were clean and perfumed, instead of being led to the steam-room, they were given new clothes, tunics made of the softest linen Lucius had ever felt, and were led to yet another room, this one open to the columned courtyard on one side. Lucius wondered if this was the family's summer dining room, so luxurious it seemed. Painted trees and flowers against a night sky were painted at the walls, bronze candelabra rose high, casting plenty of light, the couches were furnished with soft cushions and the tables were laden with plates of food. Bacchus, riding a leopard, smiled drunkenly at them from the floor, and his image was surrounded by busts of the months, each easily identified by an inscription and their characteristics, fruits or tools or flowers.

The others were there already, and so were some of Claudianus' guests, the ones who admired gladiators for their bodies and their strength. Lucius took his place on the couch, and preferred eating to talking. The food was delicious. He couldn't decide if he preferred the sweetness of the pork, or the saltiness of the cheese breads. What if he combined the two?

Gaius chuckled beside him. "You are a glutton."

"And you like big words, but you don't hear me calling you on that."  
Gaius snorted and handed him a bowl full of small, salted fish. "Try this. You'll like it." As apologies went, this was the best.  
&*&*

He was almost full, when someone tapped his shoulder. “If you would be so kind,” the young lady told him softly, casting her eyes downwards coyly.

Gaius snorted. “Go ahead. If anyone asks, I’ll say you went to take some air.”

Lucius grinned. As if the room didn't face a courtyard. He put his cup down, stood up and followed her swift, but light footsteps. “Do you have a name, my lady?”

“You may call me Macrina.”

“Alright. Macrina,” he said and from the way she looked up, he realised he had sounded ironic. “It is a lovely name to hide behind,” he added, smiling. After all, didn’t he hide behind the name of Terror, and his brother let himself be called Fear? Lucius and Gaius were hardly appropriate for the arena, even though he knew of at least one Lucius The Gladiator. 

She bowed her head.

"Everyone has something to hide," he told her, more softly. Still, he didn’t give her his true name. Macrina looked up, gratefully.  
Lucius smiled again and didn't tell her that by now everyone would have suspected with whom she was, since she hadn't been as discreet as she should. Youth was a strange thing; it made people reckless and at the same time blind.

Macrina pushed aside a wooden door. In the fleeting light of the lamp, Lucius saw it was painted green. He followed her inside a corridor, whose walls were covered in white-gray marble, and whose floor was marble too, though dark gray and stained with red in a pattern he couldn't discern as they moved. What a waste - spending money on putting marble on a floor that probably slaves only used. And when Macrina pushed the door at the end of the corridor, Lucius stayed still with his mouth open until Macrina pulled his hand.

He'd thought the rooms they had been fed and then the courtyard in which they opened were rich and luxurious, but this courtyard, though smaller in size, was even more opulent. Bronze statues of naked youths and half-dressed nymphs served as candelabra in the corners. The light danced on columns carved from the greenest marble, and then it fell in the pond in the middle of the courtyard. A triton made of the whitest marble, with silver and gold in his hair and arms, held up a delicate, pink shell. A single light burned inside, miraculously untouched by the water that ran from the fountain. At the edges of the pond, young cupids splashed each other with water, laughing.

Lucius walked around. The walls were mostly yellow, depicting light buildings, so light they seemed suspended in the air, a round pavilion on one side, a square portico opening in the other, with flimsy towers at the sides. And in the middle, framed by these structures, were paintings. Here was Narcissus looking at his reflection, there was Actaeon hiding behind tall reeds and spying the goddess Artemis, and there was Teiresias, still a young man, catching Athena unawares at her bath.

Macrina waited for him sitting patiently on one of the marble benches around the pond. She looked like one of the nymphs, or maybe a goddess, with her reddish, blonde hair catching the light and a soft smile on her lips. "Have you had your fill?" she asked teasingly.

Lucius nodded and went by her side.

"You must be living such a secluded life. All day training to fight and with no time for anything else."

"Yes, but that is why, these moments are so precious to me." He took her hands and kissed her fingers softly, one after the other. Macrina didn't seem one of those ladies who wanted him to act like an uneducated barbarian, so he decided to play the sensitive country bumpkin instead, rough only by accident. Just like a shepherd in a novel.  
Macrina blushed prettily. When she tried to move her hands from his and cover her face, he followed her movement, and placed a tiny kiss upon her cheek. When she did not object, he moved towards her mouth, and her soft-looking lips.

"Have you nothing else to do?" A young man's voice, disdainful.

Before he could hold himself back, he reacted to the sound, and the slightly annoyed tone, and pressed the young man against one of the columns.

"You have no right to touch me," the young man said coldly. "Please, let him go," Macrina begged him.  
Lucius saw her blush from the corner of his eye, but the young man before him was a much more interesting sight. His eyes were the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, and even his anger made him look beautiful, which was something he'd never thought he'd say about a man - or even see in a man. Because of Lucius, his mantle had slid down his shoulder and left his whole torso exposed. He had the body of a god, an Apollo, or maybe a Dionysus, and pale as he was, and slightly flushed with anger, he might as well have been a god, Apollo ready to strike down the mortal who'd dared see him, or maybe Dionysos, drunk with the best of red wines.  
Lucius pulled back, not because Macrina urged him again, but because no one could touch a god unscathed. "Well," the young man huffed, "that was unusual." Even if the words were teasing, his tone was not. "Dare  
touch me again, and…" He huffed again, as if he couldn't think of a suitable punishment. He looked down for a second, and frowned at his state of undress. He started re-arranging his himation around his body,  
covering most of his chest and both his shoulders, like those Greeks youths who entered the gymnasium completely wrapped up in their mantles, and who kept their eyes down, trying to preserve some modesty. Not that they had much to begin with.

Macrina stepped forward. "He's but a fool, who knows nothing." Lucius snorted. "I don't…"  
She glared at him. "Please, forgive him. You have seen him fight and how quick his reflexes are. Can you blame him for acting according to his nature?" She blushed. "He must have thought you a threat."

The young man frowned again. "As usual, you lie well."

"My Lord," Macrina raised her voice in frustration and maybe even fear. "When have I ever…"

Lucius stepped in front of Macrina. "Please, she is blameless in this. If you must punish someone, then, you should punish me. But don't frighten my lady with threats."

The young man studied him, brows furrowing slightly. "I did not threaten her. I just said that…"

“There you are.” It was that mature, malicious voice that had wanted to see him fight Gaius to the death. Lucius turned around to face the newcomer. The man didn't look bloodthirsty at all, though. He looked tall, slightly fat and leading a life of luxury, with dark, curly hair that had just started going grey, and a beard that was just as equally well-groomed. “Are you furthering your education?” the man smirked.

The young man glared at him. “Hardly.”

“I see.” He smirked again, leering at Lucius and Macrina. “Pity. Though, this was not what I wanted to discuss with you, but rather, the merits of the mimetic art.” He pointedly looked away from them and focused on the young man. “Just because we couldn’t finish our discussion before, doesn’t mean I will let it rest.”

“Do say.” The young man sounded snide.

“Is not tragedy an imitation of acts and men, and so showing them clearer than painting or sculpture?” The young man nodded, smiling slightly.  
“And, is it not true that tragedy is superior to all other types of poetry, on account of its use of metre and  
unison of plot and of course, in succeeding, through fear and pity, in bringing passionate emotions to a satisfactory end, one that purges the audience from the emotions aroused inside him during the play?”

“Indeed.” He huffed impatiently.

“Then, wouldn’t you agree with me, and Aristotle, whose books you keep beside your bed, that the performance of such acts, and their resolution on stage, is a worthy occupation for a man of sound mind and body?”

The young man smiled slightly. “Aristotle also says that it is acting that lessens the effectiveness of tragedy, that any play performed loses half its value depending on the capability of the actors. Therefore, only when read, and to the accompaniment of music especially, can one appreciate tragedy fully.”

The man snorted. “But the emotions aroused by watching a play are more violent than those experienced by reading. By virtue of seeing actors perform, our souls become more agitated. Add the enticement of music, the plaintive sounds of the flute, or the martial sounds of trumpets, the soothing melodies of kitharas, and the soul is captive. Unless one reaches that stage, one cannot experience fully the catharsis of passion.”

“But why should one want to experience such violent emotions in the first place? Why put one’s soul in turmoil, and danger, only for the fleeting, and dubious chance of expunging these motions afterwards?”

“Because, the higher the risk, the more heightened the pleasure.”

“Ah. Then tell me, what pleasure is to be found in the depiction of a duel between brothers?”

“In learning that the cost of unity is high, and thus experience pleasure that we are not fighting each other.” Macrina tugged at his wrist.  
“But the pleasure you speak of, depends on fortune. When the emperor is just and virtuous, then we are all prosperous and in peace. If the emperor is not...”

The man glared. “I will not discuss this further.”

“Alright. Let us think of that, then. Would you agree that not-fighting is better than fighting?” “Of course.”  
Macrina tugged at his wrist again ad stood on her tiptoes. “They can talk throughout the night,” she whispered in is ear.”Please, let us go.”

Lucius grinned at her. She had a point. He wondered if he should salute the two, but Macrina led him  
towards another passageway. It was a shame, though. He was curious to hear who would win this argument. But the young man didn’t even glance at him, busy asking another question about the feelings aroused by fighting. Shame, indeed.

&*&*

Even in this soft, soft bed, Macrina didn't spend the night with him. Lucius wanted to blame her, but he couldn't. He studied the ceiling instead, eyes following each one of the thin, red lines that created the illusion of a vault above his head, and then the dainty, half-dressed nymphs that fluttered between them. The ceiling back in his room at the barracks was plain, and when he looked at it, he only thought of how he wanted to see something different for a change. And now that he had it, he couldn’t even enjoy it.

Quietly, he got up and out of the room. There was no one outside, and Lucius felt like he was the only one in this place, his shadow the only companion he had. He moved towards the central courtyard, but three rooms further down from his, he found a pale blue door, and opened it. Another narrow corridor opened behind it, again marble-clad, with a marble floor, and he followed it until its end.

When he opened the door, he found a garden. Only one side was covered by a portico, the one he'd just walked in. In the other three, pine trees replaced the columns. Within this space, quince and pomegranate trees grew tall on all sides, while rose bushes struggled to escape the areas allotted to them.  
The grass looked soft and inviting, and Lucius tested it. It was cool to the touch, but not wet, and so, he took off his tunic, spread it on the ground and lied down. He stared at the sky for a while, a dizzying cloudless blue, and then closed his eyes. There were bees buzzing, and little sparrows twitting insistently for their mothers. There was no sound of wind, and yet the air was full of scents: the heady scent of ripening quinces, and the sober one of pines, blended with that of roses.

With the sun warming him gently, it was like being back home. Well, the place where he'd been born, since he didn't know whether he should be calling home his father's or his mother's place. But it had been just as quiet, and sunny and warm, and even though the mountains stood tall and harsh, he'd felt protected under their gaze.

Someone cleared his throat. Lucius opened his eyes. In the sunlight, the young man looked even more beautiful. He wore a himation again, just like a Greek, but he had it wrapped around his waist and just one shoulder this time. And he was blushing furiously.

Lucius stood up quickly, hastily putting on his tunic to cover himself. "I'm sorry about last night. I hope I didn't hurt you."

"You didn't."

Despite his words, Lucius studied him, looking for bruises. Lucius knew he could be rough without meaning to. When he saw none, he breathed a relieved sigh. "I'm glad."  
The young man sat on one of the benches and stared at Lucius. "You shouldn't be here," he finally said. "Yeah, well…" He grinned. "I'm cooped up in the barracks all day usually. I wasn't gonna stay in my room all  
day today too." "Hm."  
Lucius snorted. "You can say that again. So, you?" "What about me?"  
"You the Master's son?"

The young man snorted softly. "What do you think?" He smiled a little. "I am." "Ah. Nice place you have here."  
He chuckled.

"You have a name?"

"Everyone has a name." This time, his words were serious, but the tone was amused. "True. But, what's yours?"  
"Cassianus. Though," he grimaced, "some call me Julius."

"You don't like that?" Lucius moved closer and when Cassianus didn't say anything, he sat next to him. Cassianus tensed a little, but still said nothing, so Lucius smiled. "It's an illustrious name."

"I know." He stared at how little space was free between them, frowning.

Lucius wanted to smooth away that tiny frown. That was new to him, this itch to touch a man, but there was something about Cassianus that made him respond as if he were in front of the fairest of maidens. It was strange. He opened his mouth.

"My Lord, what…" An old man cut him off. He was wearing the simple, dark coloured tunic of a slave and he looked absolutely horrified.

Cassianus stood up, glancing at Lucius. "My Father's guest has lost his way and I believe his company will  
depart soon."

The old man bowed. "The Master has woken up."

"Ah, my presence is required then." Cassianus actually smiled at Lucius. "You fought well last night. Peace be with you."

Lucius stood up, feeling a turmoil the likes of which he'd never felt before. He couldn't even speak as he watched Cassianus walk swiftly away, without looking back. What was happening to him? To be so unmanned by a kind smile, and even kinder words? What was wrong with him?

The way to Rome was even more uninteresting when they were travelling back. Lucius ignored every monument with greater persistence than before. All he wished is that they were back in the city already.

"What's wrong?" Gaius asked him for the tenth time. "Nothing."  
"You haven't said a word since we left the villa." "I didn't feel like talking."  
Gaius rolled his eyes upwards. "Something happened. With that girl. What was her name?" "Macrina."  
"Well?"

His brother had a knowing expression so Lucius didn’t feel that he had to answer him. He approached a tomb and pretended to study it. It was made to look like a rectangular altar, but it was obviously much larger than one. Even so, compared to some of the other tombs along the road, its size was modest.

"Lucius."

"Look, I don't want to talk about it." He studied the bust of Hermodorus, the freedman of Caius Rabirius Postumus, and then that of his wife, Rabiria Demaris. They didn't look happy, or united. "Look, they changed this one,” he said pointing at the last bust on the left. “She's Usia Prima now, priestess of Isis. Do you think she was a woman at first?"

Gaius sighed. "I don’t know, and I don’t care."

"Look, the sistrum is really well carved." Lucius moved closer. "But, she has no tits whatsoever. I think it was a man there, and then they made him into a woman." He turned towards Gaius, grinning. "What might this mean? Do you think it's a portent?"

"You're being stupid."

"But when a man changes into a woman, then it's a miracle. Didn't it happen in… no, it was a woman then, who'd changed into a man on the day of her wedding."

"What are you talking about?"

"It was in that book by," Lucius frowned, trying to remember. "That guy from Tralles. Phlegon, that was his name, and he'd written this book of marvels where…"

Gaius shook his head. "You're making no sense. Why you insist on reading all those stupid books is beyond me." He pointed towards the others. "We should get moving."

"Of course, why not. As long as you don't ask me what's wrong again, because, there's nothing wrong." Gaius didn't look convinced.  
"Do you think they were related? She looks as gruff as Hermodorus and his wife."  
Gaius grabbed his arm. "Enough. It's just a portrait, Lucius. It means nothing."

Lucius wanted to disagree. If anything happened to Gaius, then he'd want his portrait. Or maybe not. He couldn't imagine life without Gaius. "When I die, will you have a portrait made for my tomb?"

Gaius looked at him strangely. "We are not discussing this seriously, are we?" He shrugged.  
Gaius hit him with the back of his palm. His hand landed on the middle of Lucius’ back. "Move, Lucius. What have I done to deserve such an idiot brother?" he muttered.

Lucius snorted. "If you weren't such an idiot yourself, then maybe it wouldn't have happened. Besides, this should be the other way round. I'm the oldest, therefore, what have I done to deserve you?"

Gaius pushed him this time.

Lucius let him. But the moment they were back to the city, he'd go get drunk.

&*&*

The good thing was that the area around the gladiatorial barracks and the Flavian amphitheatre was full of small taverns, and food stalls and all sorts of places where Lucius could get drunk. “A city within the city,” he whispered as he chose one that looked less crowed than the others.

Chloe, the serving girl winked at him. “Deimos,” she said. “I think I like you better with your guards on.”

He looked at the tunic he was wearing. It was the one he’d been given the night before. “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart.”

Before she could answer, Saturnilos slid into the bench on the other side of the table. Gaius followed him. “Time to confess.”

“Confess what?”

Saturnilos motioned for a jug of wine and cups. “And some sausages,” he shouted over the din. “I want cheese bread,” Lucius added.  
Chloe smirked. “You always want cheese bread.” He shrugged, and smiled at her.  
“You’re never satisfied, are you?” Saturnilos whistled. “If I had your looks, I’d settle down with a good woman, not fool around all the time.”

For a moment Lucius thought of a man, a young man, an illustrious man. Then he shook his head, laughing. “Why settle down with one when you can have many?”

“Maybe because the right woman has finally showed up?” Saturnilos reached for something. When he showed Lucius his hand, he was holding a small letter, closed with thread and sealed with wax. “A certain young lady gave this to me.”

Lucius grabbed it, and hid it in his belt.

Saturnilos leaned forward, but then Chloe appeared again, with the food and drink and Lucius flirted with her. “You really are something else,” Saturnilos told him when Chloe went to serve some other drunkards.

“Why?”

Gaius laughed. “The lady sent this with a special messenger.”  
“If she really cared, she would have given it to me,” Lucius said.

Gaius hit him on the back of the head. “Then she would have been exposed.”

“Brother. Everyone saw her leave with me last night. I don’t think she has much to hide.”

“Who knows what women think?” Saturnilos laughed. “That is why no man ever tried to reason with them, or understand them.”

“Poets have tried,” Gaius said.

“But philosophers never did. What does that tell you?” Saturnilos finished his drink in one gulp. “I have to go.” He stood up, grabbing as many of the sausages as he could, and hurried out of the tavern.

Gaius frowned. “Did he just leave us with paying the bill?” Lucius shrugged.  
“I asked around,” he said, drinking some wine. “The lady is one of the senator’s house-born slaves.” Gaius smiled. “She would be good for you.”

Lucius nodded. If the senator freed her, if Lucius was freed, if they got permission to become common-law spouses. “She is a slave, and so am I,” he said.

“But unlike others, she will probably get a dowry.” “I’ll think about it.”  
“Don’t think about it too long. Her affections may be swayed. Or she may be given to someone else.”

Lucius took a bite of the cheese bread. Gaius was right, and so was Saturnilos. It was time he stopped fooling around. Soon, he’d be either free or dead, and he wasn’t getting any younger. Everyone laughed at a freeborn woman who chose a gladiator as a partner, and sooner or later, people’s ridicule would poison their relationship. And if he chose someone like Chloe, everyone would laugh at them both: the gladiator and the prostitute, what a pair. They deserved each other. But with Macrina, everyone would think that she only did as her nature commanded her, slave with slave. It would be acceptable by the world - provided Claudianus allowed their relationship.

But her eyes were the wrong colour.

In the name of Jupiter, what was he thinking? He finished his wine, and filled his cup to the brim a second time. “A slave shouldn’t think of marriage,” he then said. “Nor a man waiting for death.”

Gaius stared at him. “You said you’d get free and then buy my freedom, Lucius,” he whispered with a passion in his voice that matched that of his eyes. “You’re not allowed to die.”  
Lucius snorted. He raised his cup to the image of Fortune, and then that of Bacchus. “If the gods permit.” Gaius glared at the gods. “They will, or…” He grabbed his cup, drank all the wine in it, and then squeezed it  
so hard, the cup smashed into his palm. He kept looking at Lucius, even as he put the fragments down, and wiped his hand clean on his tunic. “That I swear.”

Lucius wondered what his brother had sworn, but didn’t ask. It was enough that Gaius had something to live for. Finally. He grinned and stuffed a sausage in his brother’s mouth. “You like grand gestures and even bigger words. Eat your sausage. Idiot.”

Gaius glared at him, but his expression softened soon. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he started chewing slowly.

Lucius let him have the rest of the meat. Chloe was right; he always ordered cheese breads, but that was because he liked them.

And when he returned back to his room, he took out Macrina’s letter and smashed the wooden tablets in two.  
Next time he passed a fire, he’d burn the pieces. She was not the one for him. Perhaps no one was.  
&*&*

Being an imperial gladiator meant that he didn’t have to fight as often as others. It also meant that the days passed with boring regularity. Getting up, having breakfast and then practicing. Endless hours of practicing. Against the tall wooden pole, so that he wouldn’t forget what had been trained into him when he first had joined a gladiatorial family. Each practice move was a number. One meant hitting the head, two the neck, three the chest, four the arms. Five and six and seven. All his training, all his life, could be counted in less than twenty numbers.

And after that, he had to practice against his comrades with wooden or real swords, sometimes practicing the part of the murmillo, sometimes that of the hoplomachus, so as to fight them better at the Games. Laugh at them, and with them, and they with him, not thinking much beyond thrusting and parrying, offence and defence.

But practicing as a net-fighter? Gladiators had little virtue, but net-men had none. Symmachos really hated him. People did say he was the best trainer the barracks had ever seen, but, the man hated him. Lucius stood still, dragging the net behind him, and glared at everyone.

“Chin up, Deimos. It’s good practice,” Aniketos laughed at him. Lucius glared.  
“You’ll be the darling of all the girls if they see you like that.”

“I already am,” Lucius said, refusing to look at himself and how exposed he looked. Without his usual guards on his arms and thighs, or his helmet, wearing but a loincloth and an arm-guard. he felt naked.

“You can be my darling any time,” Cyrus shouted, waving his hands suggestively in the air. “Fuck off,” Lucius growled.  
Cyrus stood up from where he was sitting and approached Lucius with mincing steps and sashaying hips. “As a fellow net-man,” he said, making his voice even more high-pitched than usual, “I muuuuust give you some pointers.”

Lucius glared at him. “As a man, I say, ‘fuck-off’ before I hit you.” “Oh, I like a violent man,” Cyrus said and reached for Lucius.  
Lucius threw his net on him, trapped him and made him fall on the ground. “Give it a rest, Cyrus,” he said, letting go off his net.

“Less talking and more fighting,” Symmachos ordered gruffly.

“Or what?” Lucius protested. He watched Cyrus trying to get free, but no one helped him. “I’m a Thracian, not a net-man. I will not fight like him,” he pointed at Cyrus, still wiggling under the net. His tunic had risen as he moved, and Cyrus thrust shamelessly up and down, making the men laugh even harder.

“Well spoken,” someone shouted loudly.

Lucius turned. Caught up in anger and embarrassment he had missed the Emperor’s arrival. Which must have impressive, considering that he was there with his guards and his friends, and what seemed like half the senate following him.

Commodus approached him. “This attire suits you,” he said, appraising Lucius. He snapped his fingers and a blonde girl, no more than twelve, came forward with a wine goblet made of the finest glass, with gold glinting off its surface in patterns Lucius couldn’t make out. Another blond, a boy this time, brought the wine jug. Both were dressed like followers of Bacchus, with leopard skins draped over their shoulders and ivy wreaths on their heads. They poured wine slowly, theatrically, and then offered the cup to Commodus.  
The emperor took a sip and then laughed. "Tell me," he said, draping his arm around Lucius’ shoulders, "have you ever seen a greater gathering of cowards? Why should the empire be run by such men?" He leaned closer to Lucius, his breath sweet and heavy. Lucius could taste the spiced wine in it. "No, we should run the empire. Young men, full of strength and vigour." He let Lucius go, and approached a man in his fifties, who looked vaguely familiar.

Lucius almost felt sorry for the man. Commodus not only studied him, but also peered behind and around him as well. It was like the emperor expected to find something, and the man was to blame that it wasn't there.

"Claudianus," Commodus drawled. "My dear, paternal friend Claudianus."

Lucius looked at the man more carefully. He was tall, but not overly so, and even though his tunic and toga covered his body, he still carried himself like a man who'd fought in several battlefields in the past. There was nothing of Cassianus' gentle beauty in his face, and even though his hair was fashionably curled and his beard carefully arranged, he still looked like someone for whom philosophy's only worth was in its  
application. The soft life of a retired commander had not softened this man.

Yet, even this man, whose permanently frowning face, and his stock-still body spoke of a ruthless will, seemed to cower under Commodus' gaze. Such was the emperor's power, and strength. "Claudianus," repeated Commodus mockingly, "are you hiding your son from me?" Commodus' smile was full of teeth, and his words a veiled threat. Even Lucius could realise that.

Claudianus, though, seemed unaffected by it. "He is unwell, my Lord."

"He seems to be unwell fairly often." Commodus snorted. "Perhaps you have to send him to me. The Divine Trajan could heal with a touch of his hands. If he could do that, then how much more can I do? If a man who rose to the throne through life-long struggles can have such godly powers, then a prince must have them by birth. And now that I am emperor…" Commodus grinned, and clapped Claudianus at the back. "What do you think?"

"Caesar is right, as always."

"Of course I'm right." Commodus winked at Lucius, as if to say 'cowards.' "Your son is my age, is he not? After I've healed him, I'd like to keep him as my companion. What an honour, don't you agree?"

Claudianus swallowed. "I agree," he said tightly. "You wouldn't like him," Lucius blurted out.  
"What?" Commodus turned to him, pushing Claudianus away.

The only thing that made Lucius continue was that the emperor looked curious rather than angry. After all, he couldn’t quite believe what he'd just said. "Well," he said carefully, smiling as if he was talking to a friend, and not The Emperor, "he's boring."

"Boring?"

"Boring," Lucius nodded. "Likes reading and arguing philosophy."

"When did that happen? When did you meet Cassianus? I haven't seen him since we were both children, and yet you've met him already?"  
"It was at the feast I gave in your honour, Caesar," Claudianus said smoothly. "The one you did not attend." Commodus snorted. "Yet, they tell me he's clever. And beautiful. Tell me," he ordered Lucius, "can beauty  
and intelligence ever be boring?"

"Of course." He looked at the emperor. "When they are housed in a feeble body, without strength or vigour." He smiled again. "Besides, what man can ever compare to a god? How can I call him beautiful after I have seen my divine king?"  
Commodus laughed. "Alright, you have convinced me." He motioned a slave closer, took out several golden coins from the purse the slave held, and handed them to Lucius.

Lucius promptly kissed the emperor's portrait.

"I thought I liked you before, but now I like you even more," he said, taking Lucius by the shoulders again. "We need more men like you." He shot an irritated glance to the senators. "Not cowardly talkers, but men of action."

Lucius smiled and kept his hands to the sides, before the emperor could notice how they were shaking.

&*&*

Later, when they were alone, Gaius punched him. "I can't believe you did that." "What?" He put the coins on a pile on the bed.  
"Talking to the emperor like that." "He's not bad. For an emperor."  
"Because he likes you," Gaius said in a strangled voice. "What happens when you lose his favour?"

"Don't worry, Gaius." He pushed the pile aside, and the coins fell making a sweet, tingling noise. "And when that happens, well? We're already men waiting our deaths here. What worse can he do to us?"

Gaius sighed, rolled his eyes upwards and left Lucius’ room in a hurry. Lucius suspected that Gaius would have punched him again, if he stayed a moment longer. And, could his younger brother punch or what? Lucius' jaw smarted where Gaius had hit him.

Still, he couldn't take it back, and, if he were in the same position again, he'd probably do the same. Just because he lived in the barracks didn't mean that he didn't hear the rumours about the emperor. Since the emperor had started visiting them, he'd seen for himself that some of them were true. And the idea of Cassianus becoming one of Commodus' party 'companions' was unbearable.

It didn't matter that he'd probably never see the young man again. Or, if that ever happened, it would  
probably be him in the arena, and Cassianus up in the seats reserved for men of his rank. Close enough that  
Lucius would be able to make out his features, but so far from him at the same time.

It didn't matter that Lucius himself had no idea why he'd talked to the emperor, and stopped him from taking Cassianus. That he wasn’t sure why he felt this longing, when he'd never felt it before. Because, how could he want, when Cassianus was a senator's son, and rich beyond belief, and Lucius was but a slave that, even when free, would still be called a slave behind his back? It's not like he wanted Cassianus for himself, for he would never have him.

But he didn't want the emperor to have him either. What was happening to him?  
Lucius put the coins into his purse, and stared at the ceiling. Perhaps Gaius was right; he was out of his mind, not thinking, not knowing, not being able to tell what he should and what he shouldn’t do any more.

It was all Cassianus' fault. The young man must have cast a spell on him. In the morning, he'd find a sorcerer and get rid of it.

&*&*

The problem with his plan was that made sense and was clear in the middle of the night, was nothing but an illusion in the harsh light of the day. Lucius practiced his hits, but all he could think of was that he didn't really know where to find a sorcerer to help him.

There were the Chaldean Magi, but would they know of unbinding spells? He had heard of their skills in telling the future, explaining dreams and solving passions. Like any other man, he'd heard the story of  
Faustina and the gladiator, and how, when she was driven sick with desire for the man, she told the emperor, unable to bear her shame any longer. He too had heard that the emperor asked the Chaldeans for advice, and then, according to their instructions, had the gladiator killed, so that his wife could bathe in his blood. In that state, rumours said, she slept with him, and the offspring born of this union was Commodus, born in the spirit of a gladiator, on account of his mother's immeasurable passion.

He'd heard all that, and wondered. These men were consulted by patricians, the emperor himself. Would they listen to his troubles? And what if they advised him to kill the cause of his misery, like they had advised the emperor? What if they told him that was the only cure, that the fire of his passion would only be quenched in Cassianus' blood?

That would never do.

Symmachos rapped his stick on Lucius's hand. "That was a four, Lucius, not a three." Lucius stopped. "Eh?"  
Symmachos blinked. "What's wrong with you, boy?" "Nothing."  
"That was the third hit you missed. That's not like you." Lucius frowned. Symmachos showing him kindness?  
"Whatever troubles you, forget it. You're not here to think, boy." Symmachos hit him once more, this time on the shoulder, and then he stepped back. "Three," he repeated his command.

Lucius adjusted his grip and hit the pole in the prescribed manner. Four. Not three. Three. Not four. Whatever would he do?  
&*&*

Aniketos waited for him when Lucius finished cleaning himself. Lucius rubbed his hands on a towel. For some reason he hated the lingering feel of oil on his palms and fingers, but not on the rest of his body. He cleaned himself and wondered when Aniketos would get to the point.

"What was that today?" "What?"  
Aniketos gave him a look that meant that he wouldn’t put up with any of Lucius' evasions.

Lucius looked around them. Gaius was still oiling himself, so it would be a while before he finished. Also, he was avoiding his gaze, which meant he was still mad at him. He gestured outside and Aniketos followed him.

"Well," he said the moment they were finally out of the barracks and into Bacchis' tavern.

What better place to discuss private business than among the crowd? And Bacchis' place was by far the best in this row of shops serving food and drink for workers and spectators alike. Lucius grinned. "Let me get us a drink first."

He gestured towards Phoebe, Bacchis' only slave-girl, and she came balancing a jug of wine and two cups. "The house best for you," she winked, and put the cups down in front of them.

Lucius slid the coins in her hand, slowly, and she lowered her eyes coyly, smiling at him. Aniketos groaned. "Not another of your conquests."  
"You know me, Lucius of a hundred victories and of a thousand ladies."

"Someday," Aniketos said, raising his cup towards the image of Venus painted on the back wall, her son  
playing dice at her feet, "the goddess will punish you for toying with her gifts."

Of course Aniketos would say that. He'd been involved with Fortunata for a year now, and she still wouldn't agree to become his common-law wife, and live with him either at the barracks or at a house of their own. Lucius snorted. "She already has."

Aniketos choked on his wine. "What?" "It’s not like that," Lucius assured him.  
Aniketos narrowed his eyes, and if his expression before said that he wouldn't put up with any bullshit, this time it clearly said, 'do you think I'm a fool?' "Spill it, Lucius."

"I think it's a spell." Lucius sipped a little of the wine, lifted his head and winked at Phoebe. Then he grinned at Bacchis and toasted her before drinking his cup to the end.

"Lucius."

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"You wanted to talk," Aniketos reminded him as he filled Lucius's cup. "Now, talk."

Lucius looked at the whorls on the table's wooden surface. He traced one with his finger. "It's a spell. It has to be." He looked up at his friend. "I don't know what to do."

Aniketos smiled. "Everyone thinks love is a kind of magic."

"It's not love." Lucius sighed into his cup and then finished his drink. His head felt slightly lighter, and he snorted again. "It's not a woman, friend. How can it be love?"

Aniketos raised his eyebrows.

"It's this man, a youth, really. I can't get him out of my mind." He looked at Aniketos. "Don't tell me it's love." He glanced at Venus. "If it is, then it is the cruellest of jokes."

"Hm," Aniketos said, with surprising lack of surprise. "You don't find it strange? You think it's natural?"  
Aniketos rubbed his jaw, studying him. "I know this woman," he said, lowering his voice. "Maybe she can help you."

Lucius grinned. "Has she helped you?" He knew about this kind of women too, how they were old and ugly and pretended to be witches, selling the favours of young slave girls together with love potions.

Aniketos shrugged. "Fortunata is a difficult woman," he said, finishing his drink. "Come," he said as he stood up. "Phila may not have helped me much, but maybe your case will prove easier to solve."

&*&*

Even though they crossed some of the most magnificent buildings in the city, and Lucius remembered well how impressed he had been the first time he went around, this time, he couldn’t muster either enthusiasm or curiosity. So, what if that was the temple of Venus and Rome, the biggest temple in the city? So what if the Imperial Fora spread behind it, each one a marker of power and glory, each one more splendid than the one before it? The great Rome might as well be the tiniest village in the Syrian borders, so little he cared about it.

Even so, it was impossible to miss the crowds, the slaves that hurried here and there, the merchants and sellers shouting and advertising their ware, the beggar children who ran behind him, and tried to trip him. Impossible to miss the human stench all around him, and the scents of perfumes and olive oil. Impossible to ignore the way marble glittered in the sun, the way bronze and gold shone, and how, sometimes, it was like he was floating, hurrying past stone and people like he was crossing a ruined Olympus, a place of the gods that had sunk to human level, and still retained its beauty.  
Even though they were nothing, this city was built to last. It was built to impress. It was eternal, and Lucius couldn’t wait to walk it as a free man. Would the air taste different? Would his eyes burn?

But still he walked on, not dwelling on that. Because, as he was passing right outside the shops lining Caesar’s Forum, absent-mindedly looking at the wares inside, from the food stuff and the hanging amphorae at the back, the fabrics, the pots, he suddenly wondered if he would have the chance to share some of these things with…

He stopped, stunned and scared.

“We’re not far,” Aniketos told him soothingly.

Lucius realised he’d been standing still in front of a shop specializing in terracotta figurines of Venus. Aniketos must have gone ahead and come back for him. “It is a very powerful spell,” Lucius said. He couldn’t stop thinking if the young man would smile at him again.  
“Soon you’ll be free of it,” Aniketos promised, and started walking towards Phila’s place. Lucius followed him. Phila stayed in a small flat on the second floor of a three-storey insula by the Via Lata, next to the one facing  
the column of the Divine Marcus. It was not for lack of space that he called the space 'small'; compared to other buildings, hers was recently made, and big, with running water, heating and even its own lavatory. And unlike several other insulae, this one had a central courtyard, with the flats having windows opening both on the side of the street, and the courtyard, ensuring that there would be enough lighting at all hours of the day.

Lucius was certain that if anyone else had that space, he or she would have made a lovely home out of it. Phila, though, preferred living in darkness. When Lucius pushed aside the fabric that covered one of the windows, as if the wooden panels were not enough, he felt age-old dust and cobwebs stuck to his finger. And everywhere he looked, was probably just as dirty. Perhaps that was the true reason she kept the light away from her rooms.

And how crammed they were. Apart from the usual furniture, there were cabinets for books, and boxes, and vessels with mysterious shapes, and skulls of all sorts of animals, and one thing was heaped onto another, as if there wasn't enough space. Lucius was certain that if she tidied up once, she'd find her flat spacious enough for all her things.

"Don't touch that," Phila's servant told him shrilly when he reached for a monkey's skull. She couldn't have been more than fifteen, with dark hair and eyes, and even darker skin. But he couldn’t decide if she was pretty or not.

"Why?" Not that he would touch it. He felt grimy enough, and that thing looked like it needed to be washed, not dusted. So dirty it was.

"Because," the girl huffed.

Aniketos laughed. "Pay him no mind. Where is your Mistress? Will she make us wait long?" "Do you think you have been waiting long?" the girl asked scornfully. "Only yesterday the…" "Silence, fool."  
That must have been Phila. She had an old woman's voice. Lucius turned around, and indeed, she was old, and stick-thin, but she wore clothes that would have looked better on her slave, and too much make-up. But perhaps what was worse was the blonde wig she had on.

"What can I do for you?" She asked Aniketos, and waved her hands around, making her bracelets cling against each other.

Lucius was certain they were gilded bronze.

Aniketos pushed Lucius forward. "This is my friend, Deimos. He has a little problem."

She looked at him up and down, sizing him up. "I can’t imagine a young man like you having any love problems." She grinned. "That is my specialty, Deimos. I can bind anyone to you, though," she glanced at  
Aniketos, "sometimes the person might have a helping daemon of their own, and my work takes longer."

She made another waving gesture. He’d seen people use bells when they wanted to order someone, but she seemed to use her bracelets. The slave girl pushed a chair towards Lucius.

Lucius frowned. He didn't want to sit down, but Aniketos pushed him. "Well? What is your problem? A rival maybe? I can get rid of him for you."  
Aniketos took a chair himself and sat down with the ease of a favourite customer. "No, it's the opposite. Someone has cast a spell on my friend."

"And is that so bad?" Phila cackled.

"It is," Lucius answered her. "I didn't choose this."

Phila sighed dramatically. "That is an uncommon problem, indeed. But I'll see what I can do." She opened a cabinet behind her, and checked the tags of the scrolls that were stacked in the shelves. She turned towards them just as suddenly, and closed the doors of the cabinet violently. "What you ask is difficult." She waved a bony finger towards Lucius. "Come back tomorrow."

Lucius stood up. "I've never done this before."

Aniketos rolled his eyes upwards. "Give her ten sestertii." "What?"  
"It's not that expensive."

Lucius grimaced. Maybe not for him, but he was trying to save up for his and his brother's freedom.  
Frowning, he dug the coins out of his purse and gave them to the girl, who was standing in front of him with a waiting hand.

"Come tomorrow," Phila told him imperiously. "Then you will see your money's worth." "Fine, I will."  
And even though he was very tempted to hit Aniketos as they walked out, he didn’t. The man looked satisfied, like he'd done Lucius a great service. The more he thought about it, he agreed with Aniketos; he had nothing to lose. If this worked, he'd buy Phila a drink on top of her fee - and she was the ugliest woman he'd seen in a while.

&*&*

Phila’s house looked even darker and filthier the second time he went there. Phila herself looked uglier, wearing another blonde wig and a yellow dress that was definitely made for a young woman. At least in the darkness Lucius couldn’t count the wrinkles on her face, or the spots on her hands.

Lucius sat still on a stool with Aniketos beside him, while Phila sat on a high-backed chair like a priestess, with several scrolls half-opened before her on the table.

"First you have to take a cat. A black one would be best, but any cat would do."

Lucius tried not to laugh. A cat. He'd get rid of the spell that Cassianus cast upon him with a cat. How? Tie it on its back, and make the cat run out of the city? Make a scapegoat out of it? He grinned at that.

Aniketos elbowed him.

Phila glared at him. "Do you want to be cured of this affliction?" Lucius nodded, biting both lips. "I do," he muttered.  
"Then listen. Once you have the cat, you must drown it in a tub full of water. Make sure its entire body is  
submerged and that you do not face the cat. You must stand behind it, or the spell will not work."

Lucius swallowed. Did Phila know how difficult it was to catch a cat in the first place? Or how they hissed and clawed and struggled when they were anywhere near water? How was he supposed to catch a cat and then drown it, of all things? He'd probably have to tie it, first.

"I don’t like this," he said. Cats were not as good as dogs, but he killed enough in his profession. He didn't want to kill needlessly, much less an animal.

"You want to get rid of this spell or not?" Aniketos asked him.

Lucius frowned. He'd spent the night unable to sleep, because he was too anxious to hear what the witch  
had to say. He imagined Cassianus, lying on his bed and reading Aristotle in the light of a lamp, and thought,  
'if he knew I went to see a witch, he'd laugh at me.' And then he thought, 'how could he ever know?' and the idea made him hurt. "Of course I do."

"Then you will listen," Phila shouted at him, banging her hand on the table. "Young men these days, thinking they own the world. Pffff."

Lucius bit his lips again.

Phila pushed a waxed tablet towards Lucius. "This you will speak as you drown the cat." Lucius took it, and started reading it.  
Come hither to me, you who are in control of the form of Helios, you, the cat-faced god, and behold your form being mistreated.

He stopped. And that would help? Blackmailing a god? Phila glared at him. "Can you read or not?"  
"I can," he said, and went back to checking the text.

Being mistreated by your opponent So and So, Son of So and So, so that you may revenge yourself upon them.

Lucius stopped again. "He's not my enemy."

"It's a spell for many things," Phila said impatiently. "Read it out loud. I want to make sure you can pronounce the words properly. This," she lowered her voice, "is old, powerful magic, from the land of Egypt."

"It's in Greek," Lucius muttered.

"Because the Gods listen to every language, fool."

Aniketos elbowed him. "You should show Phila respect. She's only trying to help."

Phila huffed, looking far too affronted for an old hag selling fake Egyptian spells. But what if they did work? He started again. "Come hither to me, you who are in control of the form of Helios, you, the cat-faced god, and behold your form being mistreated by your opponent So and So, Son of So and So, so that you may revenge yourself upon them, and accomplish the deed, because I am calling upon you, O sacred spirit. Take on strength and vigour against your enemies, them, So and So, Son of So and So, because I am conjuring you by your names," there Lucius stopped and read them several times before he actually pronounced them, "Barbathiao Bainchoooch Niaboiathrabrab Sesengenbaraphararges Mysagaophreimi; raise yourself up for me, O cat-faced god, and perform the NAME deed. " Lucius frowned. "He's not my enemy," he said weakly.

Phila took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter, you stupid boy," she shouted.

"He's sorry, aren't you, Deimos?" Aniketos answered her. "Please, tell us what to do."

She sighed, very put-upon. "Only for you," she said to Aniketos, avoiding looking at Lucius. "After you drown the cat, you will make three lamellae, one for the ears, one for the mouth and one for the anus and…."  
"The anus?"

Phila glared at him. "You're deaf and stupid?"

"I'm not putting anything in a dead cat's ass," Lucius shouted, jumping up. "Enough." He turned towards  
Aniketos. "She's a fake, can't you see that?"

"You haven’t even tried, Deimos, how can you say that?"

"She just told me to kill and cat and stuff a metal strip up its ass." He grimaced and made a gagging motion. Then he threw ten sestertii on the table. "Sorry, lady, but this is too much. I think I'd rather be under the spell."

He hurried out of the room, as if Cerberus himself was behind him. Worse; he could hear Phila's shouts and  
Aniketos' soothing words until he was out in the street. If this was magic, he'd rather do without.

And when he was out, he kept running, until he reached the Portico of Vipsania. Some people had to leave their mark everywhere, Lucius thought, as he stopped beneath the colonnade. How many buildings had this Agrippa built any way? And for what? He didn't even become emperor. At least this one he had built together with his sister.

He put his hands on his knees and took several deep breaths. If people stared at him strangely, so what? They hadn't been asked to drown a cat and then put stuff up its ass. Lucius sat down, leaning against a column. He cradled his head in his hands and tried to calm himself.

When he'd first arrived in Rome he had come to this portico to see the map of the world that Agrippa had commissioned. He followed the roads with his eyes, remembered all the journeys he'd made with his family, then with his father and brother, and now just with Gaius. According to the map, all the roads led to Rome, and Lucius couldn't agree more.

He'd stared at it for hours, and every now and then he found himself coming back to this map, imagining where he would go next. He'd never travelled to the West, and there were so many places he wanted to visit in the East. Other times, he imagined journeying backwards, all the way from Rome to Jerusalem, as if he still had family there that waited for him.

But today, Lucius didn't want to stare at the map and all the possibilities it showed. Leaving Rome meant leaving Cassianus behind and even though he didn't want him, he couldn't stop thinking of him. Had Cassianus ever stood in awe in front of this depiction of the world, a map so large it was as if it were a world on its own, and felt proud of being Roman? Had he ever wished that he could travel from one edge to the other? Or did he never consider it, since he was already at the heart of the world, and that made him happy?

Why was he even thinking that? Lucius groaned. "You look troubled, young man."  
Lucius stopped himself from grimacing at the foul smell, and looked up. An old man dressed in a worn-out, washed-out mantle, patched up in parts and torn in others, stared down at him. His long hair and beard were matted and scraggly.

"What is the matter?" He asked, putting down his leather bag and sitting beside Lucius without even asking first.

Lucius snorted. What did he have to lose? "I'm under a spell," he said. "Someone has bound me to them, and I don't know how to break free."

The man laughed. "Is that all?" He stood up slowly. "Buy me some food, and I'll tell you."

Lucius stood up. Twice in as many days he would prove a fool. But, unlike Phila, the old man looked like he could use some food. Lucius didn't mind being swindled this time.

Finding a tavern to sit proved a difficult matter. The old man stunk so much, that Lucius was tempted to take him to the baths afterwards. Still, they found a place, whose owner didn’t kick them out, and after the old  
man had had his fill, he asked Lucius. "So, what kind of spell is it? How has it affected you?" "A binding spell."  
"And what are the symptoms? How do you know what it is?"

Lucius frowned. "I know because," he looked down. "I've never felt like this." "How?"  
He shrugged, suddenly too embarrassed to explain. That was stupid.

"A binding spell, eh?" The old man took another swig. "So far, what has this person made you do?" "I don’t understand."  
"When someone binds you, it is because they want something of you. Sex, obedience, money. What has this person asked of you?"

"Nothing."

"Is this person your enemy, then?" Lucius smiled. "They are not."  
"Do they want to harm you? Make you harm yourself, perhaps?"  
He didn’t know why, but he couldn't imagine Cassianus harming anyone, let alone him. He shook his head. "Then, why do you say it is a binding spell, if they have not tried to harm you, nor bound you to do  
something?"

"Because, I can't stop thinking of them." The old man leered. "Ah, it is sex, then."  
Lucius snorted. "Hardly. They know where I live. They could have come to me." "But you can’t help thinking of this person."  
"True."

"It seems to me that you have bound yourself," the old man told him softly, and poured him some wine. It was a foul-tasting wine, but Lucius drank it. "I don’t want to be bound."  
"You are a wise man, friend." "But what can I do about it?"  
"Hm." He scratched his beard. "This person knows where you live, and yet will not come see you." "It is so."  
"And you will not go see them," he said, smirking.

Lucius smiled, nodding. How could he go? he never had that much free time to go outside the city, and even if he went to Claudianus’ villa, his guards would kick him out.

"Then, what good are your thoughts? What purpose do they serve?" He didn't wait for Lucius to answer. "No purpose. They are useless. You might as well be the sun, and that person the moon. When did the two ever meet?"  
"Even so, I can't stop my thoughts."

"Because you're weak." He waved his finger forbiddingly. "You train and you tend your body, and yet your soul, that is so much more important, you leave unattended."

So far, this sounded reasonable. But then again, anything that didn't involve cats and fake Egyptian spells would sound logical to him at that point. "What must I do?"

"You must start thinking with the rational part of your soul, and not the desiring one." "How?"  
He grimaced and the old man laughed, and patted his hand. "It's not that hard. Just, answer me these questions. Will you meet this person soon?"

"I will not."

"Will they meet you?" "They won't."  
"Have you had this person yet?"

Lucius felt himself redden in embarrassment. "I haven't."

"So, you desire a person you haven't had, haven't seen, and you are not likely to meet again. Am I right?" Apart from the desire part. He didn’t want Cassianus like that. But it was easier to say, "You are."  
"Then, if you haven't had this person, nor seen them, nor going to meet them, can we safely say that you do not know them? Or, know them well?"

"We can. I don’t know them at all." Except that he seemed kind, and clever, and beautiful. "Then, how can you desire what you don't know?"  
Lucius frowned. "This is the point where I say 'I can't'?"

The old man nodded and waved for another plate of the small, spicy sausages that were the tavern's specialty.

"But there must be things that are unknown and yet people want." "Name one."  
"I can't think of one just like that."

"Because there are no such things. People want what they know, or what they think they know." He pointed towards a stunning black-haired girl. "They know that she is beautiful, and so they desire her."

"I know that this person is beautiful," Lucius laughed. "So, it is rational to desire them?" "But is the true beauty of a person the one that we see when we look at them?"  
Lucius made a face. "Not really. Someone could be beautiful and be a sow, and then," he shrugged. "Beauty is wasted on people like that."

"And that person you desire, is she a sow?" "I do not desire them."  
The old man smiled. "If you say so. But, answer me, what do you know of their…" He paused, frowned, and finally said, "moral character?"  
The old man must have been looking for the Greek word. Lucius grinned. "You mean, ethos." "You are an educated man," he grinned. "Let's drink to that."  
Lucius put some coins on the table, half-standing up. "I should be going." He pushed them towards the old man.

The old man grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. "You are bound to an illusion," he said. "A false desire."

Lucius bit his lips, not knowing how to respond.  
"But since no man can be bound to what does not exist, you are free." He removed his hand, smiling. Lucius laughed. Perhaps the old man was right; how could he want a ghost? What he could never have,  
what he had never had? "I think you may have cured me," he said. "Nonsense. You have cured yourself."  
"You are a wise man," Lucius said, putting more coins on the table.

"And you are a fool," he said, covering the coins with his hand and sliding them towards him. "You shouldn't be so free with your money."

"It is my money." He patted him on the shoulder as he moved towards the exit. "And the advice was worth it." "If you need more, you know where to find me."  
Lucius nodded. "The Porticus of Agrippa and his sister. I know."

Aniketos ignored him pointedly that evening. And the day after that, and the day after. He refused to practice against him, turned his back on him, and didn’t address him. All that because of that hag? Lucius knew it was ridiculous, but if that was what Aniketos wanted, then so be it.

At least Gaius talked to him, and for that he was glad. Everything around him was on fire, and he too was burning. His skin was too tight for his body, and his blood boiled. The best way he could describe it was that he was in a state of constant agitation, all the spirit in his body moving restlessly and quickly around, feverish.

“There’s no point trying to change what we can’t change,” Lucius told Gaius as he took his seat at the table. “Nor in wanting things to have been different.”

Gaius looked at him, ready to speak. “Don’t apologize.”  
“I wasn’t going to,” Gaius lied.

Lucius snorted, and looked around him. As the stars of the games, they had the best table, and he could see everywhere. It didn’t matter that since the tables were on a raised dais everyone could see them too. He was used to that, even when he sometimes wished people would stop looking at him like a piece of expensive meat.

“The emperor turns three times seven tomorrow,” he said, staring at the table of the condemned. Some of them couldn’t touch the food in front of them, looking scared and tired and resigned. “The Games for his birthday have to be spectacular. It’s an important date.”

Gaius touched his arm. “You’re not eating.” He pointed slightly towards the condemned. “You’re not like them,” he whispered.

“Then why do I feel like them?” Lucius turned towards his brother. “I can’t explain it,” he said in the same low tone Gaius had used. “But, I have a strange feeling about tomorrow.”  
Gaius frowned. “Don’t say it.”  
“If anything happens to me, I want you to take my money and free yourself, you hear me? Be free, Gaius.” Gaius grimaced, looking pained. “Nothing’s gonna happen tomorrow. You’re Lucius of a Hundred Victories.” He snorted, and shook his head. “I just have this feeling.” This restlessness had even cured him of his wish  
to see that illustrious young man. Though, would Cassianus be there? The young man had despised theatre,  
and its pleasures were innocent compared to what happened in the arena. Only fake blood was spilled there, and the cries were false, artistic lies spoken behind masques and heavy costumes, or suggestive dances  
and gestures. Everything that took place in the arena was real.

And because they would spill their blood the next day they were offered this great, free meal: plate after plate of appetizing food, pleasing to the eyes, the nose, the stomach. But all the meats dripping with sauces, and the ducks’ tongues, and the omelettes with rare delicacies, couldn’t make him hungry. The scents made him sick.

Gaius touched him again. “Lucius?” “I can’t eat.”  
“You have to.” Gaius pinched him. “Everyone’s looking at you. These people will fight for a good seat tomorrow so they can see you. Don’t disappoint them.”

“Fine.” He grabbed a boiled egg and bit into it. “Do I look bloodthirsty enough?” he asked, feeling the yolk run down his chin, its taste thick and sweet at the same time.

Gaius hit him on the back, laughed, and returned to his meal.

Lucius wiped the food with the back of his palm and then with some bread. Gaius was right; he had to give the people the spectacle they expected. His gaze was drawn to the condemned once more. They really couldn’t change their destinies, but he could. He had a chance.

Aniketos suddenly stood up and came to him. “Deimos,” he said loudly.

“That’s how they call me.” After days of ignoring him, did Aniketos want to fight?

Aniketos suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. “For the rudeness you showed to my friend, I forgive you.” “Erm…”  
“Now you must say that you’re sorry for insulting me and Phila, Deimos.” Gaius snorted. “You must, Deimos,” he said, biting back laughter.  
That itchiness wouldn’t let him rest. He stood up and solemnly said, “I’m sorry.”

Aniketos grinned, and hit him hard on the back. “Good.” Then he went back to his table, where Fortunata was waiting for him.

He smiled, feeling at least some relief. Because he knew it; something would happen the next day. Something important. And he didn’t want to die hateful or hated. As he sat down, he thought he saw Macrina among the crowd. But if she was there, she didn’t come near him. Like the stars, that had just started appearing on the sky above them, she kept her distance.

Perhaps she too was an illusion, like the spell that Cassianus had cast upon him.

&*&*

Lucius sat down, gripping the fingers of one hand with the other, trying to stop himself from attacking Saturnilos. The man kept cracking his knuckles and the noise was making Lucius mad with anger. The agitation in his blood hadn’t stopped at all. In fact, this was the first night he hadn’t managed to sleep before  
a fight.

Gaius’ shadow was short before him. “It won’t be long,” he reassured him. “I know.”  
Gaius crouched next to him. “You know what would be great?” “What?”  
“Coming to the Games as spectators. Wouldn’t that be something? Instead of waiting our turn here, to watch everything sitting down, from the entrance procession to the hunting games, and then see the executions.” Gaius nodded. “I’d skip lunch for seeing that, and then stay on to see the gladiators.”

“What? You’d like to see people ripped apart by beasts?

Gaius snorted. “I’ve heard that today the programme includes the myth of Pasiphae, as well as the usual fighting to the death between condemned men. I’d like to see a bull mount a woman. And don’t tell me that you wouldn’t.”

Sometimes he didn’t understand his brother. “Don’t you feel any pity?”

“Why? I would bet that this same woman, now condemned to death, would have come to the games, cheered on while others fought, and slept with gladiators while the blood was still hot on their wounds.”

“That is no reason…”

“It’s reason enough. Why show pity to those that show none?” Gaius grimaced, angry and disgusted at the same time. “It’s a world where you either kill or get killed, brother. Just look at us,” he hissed.

“That is exactly why we should be…”

Gaius placed his hand on Lucius’ mouth and shut him up. “Lucius. You will go out there, and threaten to kill your opponents. Then, you will do what you must, you hear me?” He suddenly hugged him. “You don’t let me say I’m sorry, and yet you go to face your death thinking of pity and mercy.” He looked at Lucius, and it was clear that he thought that men who had mercy in their hearts had no chances of winning. “What’s wrong with you?”

He shook his head. “I’m… I still feel…”

Gaius sighed. He stood up, and gave him a tight smile. “Go pray to Nemesis Unconquerable, the one who changes fortune. Offer something to Luck. Just, stop sitting here like this.”

Lucius looked as Gaius moved away. Gaius was worried for him, and it made something tight unwound in his chest, even as he was scared that this time he would let his brother down. Something would happen today. He knew it.

Everything around him spoke of death, from his comrades sharpening their swords one more time, to those offering sacrifices to Nemesis or Fortune or Diana, to Cyrus being whipped so that he would move, and go out and fight. Death and fear and terror. He could smell it, sharp and acrid, and everywhere.

Even so, he went through the underground passageway to the arena with the others, and did exactly what he was supposed to do. Shouting in rage against his opponent, and waving his wooden sword during the warm- up before the actual duels, so that the crowds would know what to expect, and wait for him to fight. His voice rose together with the sound of horns, and fell with that of the water-organ, and he made himself sound like an instrument too, making music with his curses and his anger.

Then he stood back watching, while others fought, the arena nothing but a noisy cavern where the wind carried the sound of clanging weapons and human screams to the edge of the cavea, slid up the awning, and then took with it the shouts of the crowds, and brought them back down to sink in the sand. He stood back, and smelled heat, late afternoon sun warming skin, bones and metals alike, and tasted bronze and sweat at the back of his mouth.  
He smelled fear and blood and death, and knew something would happen, but it wasn’t to Gaius, who survived victorious. Something would happen to him, and the knowledge set his body thrumming with desire.

The end was near. For him.

And so, when his time came to fight, the last, the one people were waiting for, the darling of the crowd, he went out grinning. One way or another, he would be free.

His opponent was a big man. Lucius knew him, of course he knew him, but if he pretended they hadn’t been living together in the barracks, hadn’t trained together, didn’t know his way of fighting, didn’t recognize his built, then he could fight him. Do as Gaius had asked him. Show no pity, and no mercy. Just fight.

Of all the opponents he could have had, a murmillo was the least desirable. They were equally covered up, but with a shield twice as big as Lucius’, and five times heavier, the murmillo had the advantage of being less vulnerable. But Lucius was fast, faster than average, and if that cocksucker thought he could beat him, then he was mistaken. So what if people thought the odds were against him? He wouldn’t give up without a fight.

He would win.

The first strike was his, but then his opponent pushed him back. Lucius twisted and tried to use his curved sword to hit the back of the murmillo’s leg, but the other man moved away before he could strike. The murmillo even thrust his straight sword forward, in an attempt to cut his arm. Lucius barely had time to raise his shield.

Two strikes later, two failed attacks later, and Lucius knew how this would go. The first one to get tired would be the loser. It would be stamina that would determine this contest, not skill. For the first time in a while, he felt like he had found his match. If his life wasn’t on the line, he’d laugh - from the irony of it, and for joy.

A good opponent made you better, as long as you didn’t give up.

But in the end, it wasn’t stamina that determined the match. The murmillo , in a desperate, bold move, cut Lucius’ sword arm. Lucius, threw down his shield and fought with his left arm for a while, but then, the murmillo struck his leg as well. It was over. Lucius threw down his sword, and raised his finger, signalling defeat.

He couldn’t declare his defeat on his knees, his pride wouldn’t let him, but his wound wouldn’t let him stand for long either. Lucius sank down, and tilted his head back, showing his neck to his opponent. Waiting for judgement. Freedom in one form or another.

It was strange. He should be looking into the other man's eyes, or maybe towards the emperor, but all he could see was the sky. His opponent was a dark figure, a man-beast clad in bronze, but the sky was the deep, bright blue of late afternoon, beautiful and calm.

Just like Cassianus. Calm, and peaceful. Lucius was glad the young man wasn’t there. But dying under this sky would be like dying under his gaze. He wasn’t sure if he should be glad or regretful.

At least Gaius would be free after this. Lucius hoped his brother wouldn’t hate him for dying like this.

In the name of all the gods, the sky was beautiful. Not even the music, not even the voices of the crowd could make him look elsewhere. The sound rose and swelled around him, like the waves of an angry sea, but he couldn't make out what they shouted. Were they crying out for his death? Or maybe his life? How could he tell, when all he felt was weariness, his wounds itching, his blood sticky on his skin, mixed with dirt. He was covered in a reddish mud, and everyone screamed around him, but this was no sea, and no water would cleanse him. Perhaps the sky would take him.

The sounds stopped suddenly. Dean looked past the murmillo and towards the imperial box. The Caesar  
was standing, and everyone had turned to look at him. Lucius was suddenly struck by how young he looked, how beautiful, how blessed. And Lucius' life was now in this young god's hands. Youth was a dreadful thing, without pity. Lucius smiled.

"My people have asked me to spare you," the emperor said, his voice loud and clear. "You have fought well, and pleased us greatly."  
Lucius kept smiling. He didn't feel fear, though he should. What more could they do to him? At least he'd fought well. Even the emperor had said so. And the day was beautiful. Not too warm, not too cold. The sun had not set yet, but it was no longer burning hot. A good day.

"Because your life is ours, and you would have died for us, I…" Commodus paused for greater effect and everything went quiet.

Lucius wished for something, anything, to break the silence. It was too big for him to bear. He suddenly became aware of all the people staring at him, and the emperor. He was caught between the nets cast by thousands of eyes, yet one person alone could free him from this torment.

Commodus raised his hand slowly. Even more slowly Lucius saw his thumb move. Down. And then, the emperor motioned to his attendants.

Lucius' opponent took a step back, and sheathed his sword. Lucius shivered, and this time, the waves from the sea crashed on him. He blinked and the murmillo helped him stagger to his feet.

"You fought well," he said. Lucius couldn’t even recognise his voice, so harsh it was. "I'm glad." "I'm glad too."  
The guards who approached him seemed to dance to the music from the water-organ and the horns. Lucius stared. The emperor walked between them, holding a wooden sword in his own hands. He sank down to his knees again, dragging the murmillo with him.

Commodus laughed. “Look up, Deimos,” he said softly, just for him. “You have fought well, better than any other. This is your just reward,” and this time he spoke loudly, for all to hear. He handed Lucius the wooden sword. He took it with trembling hands, and Commodus laughed again.

Then the emperor turned away, and the murmillo had to help Lucius up again.

&*&*

After his wounds had been cleaned and dressed, and Gaius had nagged at him, Lucius was ready for the emperor’s banquet. In fact, everyone who could stand and walk had been invited, and Lucius was looking forward to seeing how the patricians would react to seeing an ‘unruly slave mob’ among them.

As if that wasn’t enough, a litter had been sent from the palace specifically for him, in ‘deference to his wounds’. Gaius nagged at him even more, jealous thing that he was, but Lucius still used it. Not that he liked being carried around; it made him feel even more wounded than he was. But it was nice not to put any pressure on his leg for a while.

What was also nice was seeing the city from a different perspective. Like he was taller, taller than Gaius even. Not that it was such a great distance from the amphitheatre to the Palace, but he could still enjoy the view without his brother complaining about Greeks bearing gifts. And what a view it was.

Nero’s colossal statue rose to his left, another testament to the rash emperor’s pride, no matter how the Divine Vespasian had tried to change it by calling him Sun. But that it still stood was a sign of the Divine Hadrian’s will and power: twenty-four elephants had been needed to move it when the emperor needed space for building his temple to Venus and Rome.

Lucius had seen elephants. They were massive, but hard to tame. And the emperor had had twenty-four of them in his service, and under his command. That must have been a sight.

The Temple of Venus and Roma was another testament of the Divine Hadrian’s rule, and also his culture. And yet, how much more powerful and great the Roman power compared to that of the Greeks. Lucius felt pride making him smile. The temple had been built after the famous Parthenon of Athens, but that Parthenon only had eight columns at the front. The Roman temple had ten. And where the Parthenon was at a rock, the temple of Venus and Rome was on a gentle hill, with stoas with thick, granite columns on the sides making it even more solemn and beautiful.

But he wouldn’t mind going to Athens, and for the first time since he stepped up and into the litter, he wished he had persuaded Gaius to sit with him. Would Gaius agree to go to Athens with him? Everyone said it was  
the place to be, if one wanted to study philosophy and rhetoric and art. Rome may be the heart of the world, its collections of artworks magnificent, its temples unparalleled, but Athens was where culture grew and was cultivated. Cicero had done his best to expand the boundaries of Roman culture, as Caesar had once said, but captured Greece still conquered her captors. It had even captured the Divine Hadrian, even when the emperor then proved how free he was, and how good a student of Greek art, by building such a lasting monument to rival and defeat all the Greek Parthenons.

He could imagine Cassianus making the journey from Rome to Athens, wanting to further his education, and Lucius slapped himself. He could never have him. Ever. Even if he went to Athens and studied philosophy with the best of them, he would still not be good enough for the young man. So why was he thinking about it?

He’d heard a philosopher lecture on life once. He’d said that life was nothing but desire. Desires were nothing but causes of agitation for the mind, and if a person wanted to live a good life, he’d have to rid himself of his desires. Be free of anything that could perturb his soul.

At the time Lucius had agreed. No gladiator could win a duel he fought with a muddled, anger-filled head. Freedom from agitations was the key to success in what he did. And he hadn’t agreed at the same time. A life without desires would be like food without salt. How could that be good, or pleasant?

But now he wondered if perhaps that philosopher had been right; now that he was free, and gods, he owed Fortune an altar and a sacrifice to thank her, he found himself wanting. His brother’s freedom, for a start. Then a house. Or maybe a trip to Athens. Or maybe towards the West. He’d like to see the edge of the world, stand on the tallest mountain, find the deepest sea. And he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do.

The litter stopped, and he hadn’t even realised when they had arrived at the Palace. Lucius got out of the litter, refusing help from the slave that was waiting for him, and stared at the entrance. He’d never been so close to the palace and, gods, it was tall. Huge. A palace fit for Jupiter, exactly like the poet had written.

But that was just the entrance. Lucius was led past the arched colonnade and marvelled at how much marble was everywhere. And that was just the corridor.

“This way,” a gorgeous, dark and long-haired, young slave in a flimsy, white tunic told him and Lucius followed him into a huge room. It must have been one of the most official rooms of the Palace, perhaps the same room where the emperor held audience, and received officials, petitioners and guests alike. There was marble on the floor, marble on the wall, and even the statues in the niches were made of coloured marble in  
a display of opulence worthy of an emperor.

Lucius smiled at the image of Hercules, carved out of the hardest, darkest basalt he had ever seen. My weapons are yours, he promised the god. Tomorrow. Then he smiled at a group of patricians frowning at him, and they immediately looked away, as if even looking at him was painful to them.

Perverted old men, daring to judge him because they didn’t dare judge the emperor. After all, it was Commodus who had invited him, and opened the doors to his palace to his gladiators. If these old fools had a problem, they should take it with him. Lucius grinned at them.

That magnificent room opened to the most splendid colonnaded courtyard Lucius had ever seen. A hundred columns, perhaps less, maybe more, all of warm, golden marble.

“It is Numidian,” his slave-guide informed him softly, leaning slightly towards him, as if attempting to seduce him with the sweetness of his perfume and the darkness of his eyes.

Lucius smiled. Beautiful though he was, his eyes were the wrong colour.

They moved under the shadow of the columns, with the music from the water flowing in the fountain in the middle of the courtyard not managing to hide the sounds of music coming from the rooms across. And as he moved closer, he suddenly felt hungry like he hadn’t eaten anything all day.

Of course, since he hadn’t eaten anything all day that was to be expected. And even the gurgling water couldn’t hide his stomach’s rumble, but since the slave next to him ignored it, Lucius ignored it too.

The room where he was shown was even more magnificent. This must have been the famous dining room the poet had written about that: more spacious than an open field, and with its dome seeming to cover the sky. Everywhere he looked, there was coloured marble arranged in patterns beautiful and pleasing to the  
eye, the colours brighter when contrasted with the austere grey of the massive, granite columns. On the two sides, large windows let the light in, but even the light seemed coloured, reflected first in the waters of the fountains outside, and then of the marble on the floor and walls.

Lucius stood and stared, wondering if he would ever get his fill of this magnificent beauty. As if that wasn’t enough, there were hundreds of tables set, each one more luxurious than the other, with silver fittings, gilded armrests, ivory legs, all encrusted with gems, all carved or cast in the shape of gods and goddesses or creatures of myth. Here was a Maenad, there the Moon, there a griffin, here a lion. Was he supposed to choose where he would sit? How could he?

And even though he wanted to annoy the stuck-up senators or knights, he did not wish to sit among them. But his friends were not there yet. Lucius was lost.

Someone laughed behind him, and Lucius turned. When he saw the emperor, he started to kneel, but the emperor stopped him with a gentle hand. “You can say whatever you want about Domitian, but he had taste.”

Lucius nodded.

"Sit beside me," Commodus said, smiling as he moved towards his table, a thing of gold and silver and immeasurable beauty placed at a dais at the end of the room, at the centre of an apse that was even more richly decorated than the rest of the dining room. "Because you were prepared to die for me, I gave you life," he said proudly. "Aren't I benevolent?"

"You are a god, Caesar." He resisted the urge to scrunch his nose. The emperor’s breath stunk. It was the smell of honeyed, spiced wine, but it was still unpleasant.

Commodus laughed. "Of course I am a god. The matter is that I am a benevolent god." Lucius grinned.  
"More benevolent than Jove," someone to Lucius's left said. One of these cowardly senators. Lucius didn’t even look at him.

"More benevolent than our Divine Father? More pious than his Father?" "Of course, Caesar." Lucius added his voice to that of others hastily.  
Commodus climbed up the dais, raised his hand and everyone fell silent. "Our Divine Father wanted to rule this city with iron. Whenever he was here, that is. He thought Rome was better protected from the borders. But is it not better for the city that is rightly so the first city in the empire to have the emperor living in it?" He put his hand on Lucius’ shoulder, and leaned on him. "Yet, they murmur against me," he said, pointing at different men around him, all in their senatorial, purple-trimmed, white togas. His finger wavered and it was difficult for anyone to pinpoint the men whom the emperor accused. "They didn't come with Father in the Danube, to taste the bitter cold and the sweltering heat. Where were they when my Father fell in a quagmire, and I, rushing to his aid, put myself in danger to free him? Here, enjoying their riches and the spectacles." He turned towards Lucius. "You can understand what I'm talking about. You fought here, and put your life in danger for Caesar's sake."

Lucius nodded, and helped Commodus sit. His arm hurt where the emperor held him.

Commodus kept pressing his shoulder. "You will stay with me tonight. Celebrate your freedom with me." Both were orders. Lucius lowered his head. "I'm just a human, afraid of burning in the Caesar's divine fire." "You'll find my embrace kinder than that of Jove, my kiss less fateful than that of Apollo."  
"Caesar sounds like Hercules," Lucius muttered, staring at the statue of the god across the room. Another of those world-weary gods, and Lucius felt just like him,

Commodus laughed. "Indeed. I will be like Hercules, my sweet." He made Lucius sit down next to him. "Pour me sweetened wine first, and then give me the sweet wine of your kisses."

Lucius smiled and focused on the task at hand. This was just another performance. Nothing more. His smile  
widened. Wine inflated men's desire, but then let them down unkindly. Lucius would pour as much sweet wine as the emperor wished, but stop before he could taste Lucius’ own 'sweet wine'. And as he handed the cup to the emperor, a heavy, golden cup that he had to hold up with both hands, he wondered if all of Commodus' precious education had been ruined by the Caesar's obvious reading of love elegies.

Commodus suddenly turned around. "Claudianus," he said sternly, gaze falling on the man who’d just arrived.

Lucius turned too and saw Claudianus' expression change from disapproving to respectful. He snorted. The emperor was right about one thing; the senate was full of cowardly, old men.

"Your son is still ill?" "I'm afraid so, Caesar."  
"How unfortunate. Lucius here, gave the most glorious fight for us. If I were in Lucius’ place, I would be insulted."

Lucius blinked.

Commodus pulled Lucius tighter against him. "In fact, I am insulted," he said seriously. Using Lucius as leverage, he stood up. "Your son didn’t come to honour me on my birthday, didn't come to my Games and didn’t come to the feast either. But," he grinned, "I am a benevolent god. That has been established."

Lucius nodded, watching how quickly people agreed to whatever the emperor wanted. Cowards.

"No, I am insulted for the sake of my friend, and it is on his behalf that I am angry. Tell me, Claudianus, what would be the appropriate punishment for your son's behaviour?"

Claudianus paled. He licked his lips, but didn't say anything.

Commodus turned towards Lucius. "You are insulted, aren't you? You gave everything for your emperor, and that ungrateful man couldn't honour that."

"I fought for you, Caesar, not for others."

Commodus laughed. "But I offered the games for the sake of the people. You should feel proud that they watched you. And insulted that Claudianus' son didn't. He really should be punished."

Lucius lowered his gaze. What if the emperor asked him to choose a punishment? How could he do that? "Caesar," Claudianus started.  
"When I asked you, you held your tongue. You have no right to speak now, Claudianus." Lucius felt pity for the man, so pale he looked, and like his feet couldn't support him.  
"I'm thinking. What would be the best way to repay such an insult?" Commodus climbed down of the dais and started pacing, not letting go of Lucius. He dragged and used him as a support at the same time, and Lucius bit his lips so as not to wince from the pain. Commodus finally stopped in front of a statue of Minerva. "Oh, Goddess of Wisdom," he said, raising his hand towards her, "tell me what is wise. Help your brother."

He stood staring at her for a while. Then he suddenly turned, smiling at Lucius. "I know what." He turned towards Claudianus. "Since your son has shown such contempt towards the men who fight so bravely for their emperor, he should be punished in a similar manner. He should be made to fight."

"Caesar," Claudianus shouted, falling to his knees.

"Oh, I know. The infamy." Commodus laughed. "But it is a punishment to fit the crime, don't you agree?" He asked Lucius.

What was worse? Cassianus at the barracks, or at the arena? Lucius shivered. "He is too weak to fight like a man," he answered steadily, praying to all the gods that the emperor listened to him.  
Commodus grimaced, annoyed. "So what? Let the arena be his training ground, then." He peered at Lucius. "Actually," he said as he pushed Lucius aside, "I have an even better idea. If he's as weak as you say, all that will happen is that he will be killed in his first fight. That is not a suitable punishment for his crime."

Lucius held himself still. What was worse than being condemned to fight as a gladiator? Damnation to the beasts. Gods. He wanted to throw up. At least the death of unarmed men striking each other was usually, mercifully, swift.  
"Since he has shown such contempt towards you, my friend, then he should be shown contempt too." Lucius frowned, but it was Claudianus who dared ask. "What, Caesar?" The poor man looked ready to  
collapse.

"Gladiators, actors, prostitutes, all are infamous," he said, grinning. "Worthy of our contempt." Commodus ruffled Lucius’ hair. "But that is a stupid law. We know what gladiators are truly worth."

Lucius bowed his head a little. Had it been Caligula or Nero that had forced patrician women into brothels? Because no one ever sentenced anyone to a life in the theatre. That was a punishment people chose for themselves.

"But there are still things that are worth of even greater contempt. As you see, I cannot call them people, since we all know that they're just talking tools."

Lucius looked up, his blood freezing in his veins.

Commodus smiled at him pleasantly. Then he faced Claudianus. "It is our wish and command that you give your son as a slave to this former slave of ours. That ought to teach him a lesson."

Claudianus didn't move.

"I'd like to see that," Commodus laughed. "I am certain it would be a spectacle to surpass all others. Would it be a tragedy or maybe a farce? What do you think?"  
Lucius shrugged. The gods had robbed him of the ability to speak, and no thoughts would come to him. "Some things should be between a father and a son," Commodus mused as he walked back to his seat. "I  
will name who will be your witnesses, and they will report to me."

Lucius didn't dare look up for the rest of the evening, too scared he would find Claudianus glaring at him. He couldn’t join his brother, and ask his help, for Gaius was the clever one who could untangle the webs of sophists and liars. But Commodus didn’t let him leave, called him ‘sweet’, and even shared his food with him, while Lucius kept giving him drink after drink, marvelling at how steady his hands were.

Only in the morning did an idea occur to him. “I don’t even have a house, how can I have…” he frowned, not wanting to use either Cassianus’ name, or call him ‘slave’.

Commodus blinked at him. He sat up slowly, and the light made his body and hair glisten golden. But Lucius could no longer think him a god. No god was without virtue, everyone knew that. “That is the problem?” he yawned. “I’d give you a house, but when Nero did the same to a victorious gladiator, the people of Rome protested, and I will not be compared to him.” He yawned again, and fell back to bed. “How much would it cost?” He ran his hand over Lucius’ arm, lightly touching the wound. “You’re bleeding again. Have that checked, and then come back.”

Lucius slipped out of bed quietly, trying not to disturb Commodus. Whatever would he do? Apart from obey?

**********

The first thing he did after leaving the Palace was find his brother. He practically ran to the barracks, heedless of the pain that pulled him back, and when he was there, he ignored the stain on his thigh bandages, the way people stared at him, the effort people made to talk to him. He didn’t care about anything, except talking to Gaius. Even if Gaius could be a nag, especially in the mornings he hadn’t gotten much sleep.  
“Wake up,” he said softly, touching his brother’s shoulder. “Mmmm.”  
“Wake up.”

“Lea’ me alon’,” Gaius muttered and turned around. Lucius shook him.  
Gaius spread his hand backwards, elbowed him and then pushed him down. He made another strange noise, and covered his head with the sheet he’d thrown aside.

“Gaius,” Lucius shouted.

“What?” His brother turned slowly around, still hiding his face. “What?” He yawned.

Lucius had had enough. He pulled the sheet away, and shook Gaius one more time. “Wake up.”

Gaius looked at him with bleary eyes. Then he rubbed his face and sat up. “What happened?” He blinked. “The emperor kicked you out?” Gaius leaned forward and breathed in deeply. “Your breath doesn’t stink that badly.”

Lucius pushed him back. “Yours does.”

Gaius laughed. “We can’t all dine on roses.” He moved over and let Lucius settle next to him. “I swear, I thought an octopus was sitting next to you,” he grinned. He reached out, trying to grab Lucius here and there. Before Lucius could block him, his hands would move elsewhere, and Lucius had to start again.

It wasn’t as funny as Gaius thought, but since Gaius found it amusing, Lucius let him continue. Suddenly Gaius stopped and Lucius stayed still, his hands suspended in the air. “You’re bleeding,” Gaius told him. He lowered Lucius’ arms. “Let me,” he said as he started unwrapping the bandage on Lucius’ arm first. He looked very awake, very aware, and was gentle.

Lucius smiled a little.

“So, what happened last night?” Gaius asked, not looking at his eyes. “Nothing.”  
Gaius raised an eyebrow.

“Wine is a bad adviser to love, and an even worse to lust,” Lucius grinned. Gaius snorted. “You got him drunk, you mean.”  
“Maybe.”

“I can’t believe it.” Gaius looked at him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have. Who knows what rewards he would have given you.”

Lucius groaned. Only a few days ago Gaius encouraged him to settle down with Macrina, and now he suggested that he should have slept with the emperor for profit. “He’s given me enough already.”

“Really?”

He winced, more from Gaius’ open curiosity and excitement than the sting he felt when the bandages unstuck from his skin.

“Well?”

He stared at Gaius. “He gave me money,” he started. “And a slave.”  
“Is that all?” Gaius dipped a towel into a basin full of water and cleaned his wound gently. The water soothed the itch he felt. “Hm. You should have slept with him,” Gaius said seriously. “Then he might have given you a house, or maybe a position in court. Money and a slave,” he snorted.

“It’s....” He sighed. “It’s a senator’s son. I don’t know if Commodus wants to punish him, or his father, though.”

Gaius frowned. “That’s not good.”

“You tell me?” He leaned back against the wall, and let Gaius put some ointment on his wound. “How do I  
refuse Caesar, Gaius?”

“You don’t,” Gaius told him, frowning. “You just don’t,” he repeated staring at him. “But I don’t want this.”  
“I don’t blame you.” Gaius started bandaging him again. “The moment you fall out of favour, Commodus will have your head so that he won’t have any reminders of his kindness to you. And if he doesn’t, then the senator will. Or his son. These are powerful men, Lucius, and…”

“I know, they’re my enemies.” He closed his eyes, letting Gaius deal with the wound on his thigh next. Was this the Gods’ way of mocking him? He winced. He’d only wanted to see Cassianus smile again, but only house-born and house-bred slaves who knew no better smiled at their masters. And even they could turn against them, sometimes with greater fury than the ones who’d been brought into slavery from the corners of the empire.

Cassianus would never, ever smile at him now, and his father would hate him, and the moment Commodus had no use for him, one of them would kill him.

“Will you stop sighing like it’s you they’re punishing?” “But they are.”  
“Not really.”

Lucius would have glared at his brother, if he had the strength.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now,” Gaius said. “Didn’t you tell me there’s no point wishing things were different when we can’t change things?”

“But there has to be a way out of this.” For a moment, he had the craziest thought. If they found a way to say no to Caesar, then maybe Cassianus would be grateful. Perhaps he could see the young man smile at him again.

“I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything right now.” Gaius finished with the second wound, and climbed on the bed. He sat close to Lucius, their shoulders almost touching. When Lucius came nearer still, he didn’t mock him  
for his neediness. He just sighed.

Lucius closed his eyes again. His brother was warm, his breath even and soothing. “There is no point in wishing,” he murmured, “but, gods, how I wish things were different.”

Gaius chuckled.

Lucius opened his eyes, and jumped off the bed. “But there’s still something I can do,” he said, and ran out of his brother’s room.

“Lucius? Lucius,” Gaius shouted behind him, but he was already going towards the staircase. “Lucius,” Gaius sighed one more time, and then Lucius heard the door of his room close.

Lucius smiled. At least this he could do.

&*&*  
When he came back, he found Gaius practicing. The moment he walked in the arena, Gaius stopped and glared at him. Symmachos frowned, but didn’t say a word.

“Hello,” he said, grinning. Gaius ignored him.  
“Gaius, will you let me talk?” “I won’t.”  
Lucius grabbed him by the hand. Gaius didn’t fight back, staring pointedly at his wounded arm, and Lucius let him go. But Gaius stayed still, instead of leaving, and so Lucius knew he could talk. “Follow me,” he said, wishing to have some privacy.

Symmachos nodded.

“Well?” Gaius asked him once they were out of the amphitheatre, and next to one of the four fountains that graced the corners of the courtyard.

Lucius sat on the marble edge, and dipped his hand in the water. Then he splashed his brother.

“What madness has possessed you?” Gaius frowned, and a moment later, cupped his hands, filled them with water and threw it on Lucius. “Explain yourself.”

“You’re free,” he grinned. “What?”  
Lucius grabbed his brother’s arm. “I bought off the rest of your contract. You don’t have to stay here anymore.”

Gaius stared at him. “What?”

“You’re free,” he repeated, and he started to laugh. “We’re free.” That was the important thing. Not that he had to pay more than twice the price of his brother’s contract, nor that he had to beg the gladiators’ manager himself, an arrogant knight who thought he owned the world, not even that the city prefect glared at him when he made his claim. None of these mattered.

Gaius hugged him so hard, it was a miracle he didn’t crack any of his ribs. Lucius felt wetness on his brother’s face, and he suspected it wasn’t water, but he didn’t check. He just hugged Gaius back, as tightly as he could.

“Now?” Gaius asked him afterwards, his voice so raw he didn’t dare speak more.

“Now?” Lucius smiled a little. “Now we find somewhere to stay. I’ve had it with the barracks.”

Gaius laughed again. And then he splashed more water on Lucius. “Idiot. The rent year has started already. Where will we find a place to stay?”

“An inn, for a start?” “And then what?”  
Lucius shrugged. For some reason, he felt he could trust his luck.

“Let’s go out,” Gaius told him, and Lucius had no choice but to follow him. But Gaius didn’t go very far. He stopped right outside the door and looked around.

“Well?” Lucius asked when he realised that Gaius was just standing there. “Well,” Gaius stared at him as if he were stupid, “where do we start?”  
“I don’t…”

Gaius sighed. He guided Lucius into a tavern selling cheese and oily pancakes to go with it, ordered some wine, and then stared at him silently.

“I still don’t understand.”

“Assuming that we can still find a flat available in the city, how do we start looking? I saw plenty of notices a few months ago, but nothing now. And in which area?” He chuckled. “The Aventine is too expensive for us, or the Caelian.”

“Who said anything about living up a hill?”

“Where do you want to live then? The Trastevere? The Subura?” Gaius grimaced.

Lucius shrugged. “Anywhere, as long as it’s a house. I don’t want to stay in an insula.” He grinned. “Why  
don’t we leave Rome? Wouldn’t that be great? We could buy a farmhouse in the country for the same money we’d spent on the rent here.”

Gaius glared at him before his imagination could finish painting the image of taking care of his orchard. “I like the city.”

“Kind sirs, did I hear you correctly? Are you looking for a place to stay?”

Lucius looked up. An old man in a slave’s tunic, though one that seemed of relatively good quality, smiled at him. He seemed trustworthy, like he was a steward of a household, or maybe a pedagogue who now managed his master’s affairs. But then again, how trustworthy was a slave that hung out in a tavern in the middle of the day?

“What if we are?” Gaius asked him. “Then maybe we can help each other.”  
Before Gaius could say that they didn’t need any help, as Lucius was certain that he would, if the set of his shoulders and the frown were an indication, Lucius moved further down on his bench and motioned the man to sit down. “How?”

“My Master’s father passed away, leaving his house and business in Arretium to my Master. But before I can join my Master’s household, I must first find tenants for their house here.”

“How do I know you’re not lying? That you’re not pretending to have the rights to lease a property, when all you’re doing is trying to swindle us?”

“Gaius.”

“Many people leave the city for the summer and come back after the first of October, and find that some unscrupulous thief has leased their flat or house.” Gaius glared at Lucius. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t you remember what happened to Achilles when he tried to move out of the barracks with his Cynthia, and how humiliated he was when he came back?”

Lucius didn’t say that Achilles was more humiliated by what his fellow gladiators said than to have found himself swindled, and having to present his case to the judge. “I do,” he said instead.

“I swear to all the gods that I’m telling the truth.” He sagged a little on the table. “I swear. I’ve been at my wits’ ends trying to find some good people to rent the house. It’s a good house, you’ll see, but,” he sighed, “the neighbourhood isn’t what it used to be.”

Lucius grinned. “Where is it?” “The Subura,” he mumbled.  
“The Subura?” Gaius grimaced in distaste. “I don’t think so.”  
“Why not?”

“What do you mean ‘why not’? It’s a place for whores and thieves.”

“And merchants and makers. Don’t tell me you want to live in a stuffy place like the Esquiline.” Gaius made another the face. “He could be lying,” he said, pointing at the old man.  
“I can show you the deeds to the house.”

The old man took something out of his purse. “Here,” he said. It was the portrait of a stern-looking man with a prominent nose and not much hair engraved in a small carnelian. “This is my Master’s Father. His portrait is still in the House. Do you think I would carry this around if I was lying?”

“He could have stolen it,” Gaius said.  
Lucius sighed. “Forgive my brother. He’s very suspicious. I’d like to see the house,” he said standing up. Gaius rolled his eyes upwards. “Idiot,” he muttered. He waited for the old man to move ahead, and then  
grabbed Lucius’ arm. “When was the last time we were so lucky?”

He frowned, tempted to say that his brother was right. That things like that didn’t happen to people like them. But then he remembered. Two days ago he was about to die, thinking Cassianus as untenable as the wide, blue sky above. But Fortune had made it so that Cassianus would be his in a few days. And even though he was scared, and he knew that the young man wouldn’t smile at him the way that Lucius wanted, it had happened. “Maybe,” he agreed, speaking softly. “But remember? Achilles wasn’t judged guilty of fraud in the end.”

“He didn’t get the money he lost back.”

“So what? If that happens, it happens.” Lucius bit his lips. Gaius was a fine one to talk. Maybe he should tell him exactly what his freedom had cost Lucius. But then he looked at him, and it was difficult to stay mad at him. Look, Father, Lucius wanted to say instead. Gaius walks tall, and proud. He wears his freedom like a new cloak. Isn’t that something?

&*&*

As it turned out, the area wasn’t half as bad as Gaius feared. The streets were lined with shops and taverns, and they all looked ordinarily respectable in the light of day. Here was a cobbler, and there a fabric seller, and there a stall with fresh vegetables. But what made even Gaius stop whining was that the house was really close to the Argiletum, where most of the bookshops were.

As for Lucius, what he’d liked was that the house was very close to the Baths of Trajan, and right next to the Portico of Livia. But what he’d liked the most was that it was a house. A proper house. There were two entrances, both tucked away between shops. And Lucius would be lying if he said that he hadn’t noticed how one of them sold cakes that smelled delicious, and that he would try them regardless of whether he got the house or not.

From the main entrance one reached a colonnaded courtyard of good size. The lararium and the ancestral portraits were still on one wall. One of them had a striking resemblance to the man in the gem portrait. There were two sizeable dining rooms opening to the courtyard. The bedrooms were past a large room that must have served as the place where the Master could have received his clients or his associates. Near the second entrance was the kitchen and the pantry, and two smaller rooms that could have been used for storage.

“There’s a latrine too,” the old man said as he showed them the small room that was near the courtyard. “It’s a very…” Gaius frowned, “interesting house,” he finally said.  
Lucius nodded. It was a house, but it didn’t look as nice and pleasing as other houses. Even flats had more regular design.  
“It’s so difficult to find enough space in Rome,” the old man protested. “But it is close to the bookshops,” Gaius muttered.  
The old man looked at him pathetically.

Lucius smiled. What did they have to lose? “Why not,” he said. “I like this place.”

The old man grinned full of gratitude. Perhaps this was a scam, and in a month’s time he’d find himself facing the house’s rightful owners. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Gaius was already thinking of the bookshops, and he was thinking of the baths.

And that at least he had a house to show to Cassianus, and not a first or second-storey flat in a crowded insula.

&*&*

They moved in that very evening, and Lucius had been surprised that they had had to hire a carriage to move their things. And even though the house had only the minimum of furniture and they had to sleep on the floor, Lucius didn’t care. He was out of the barracks, and his brother was lying next to him, instead of his room. Something about being too tired to go to his room, although his room was across the corridor and three steps away from Lucius’. Gaius wanted to be with him, and talk to him, like they used to do.

“What will you do with the senator’s son?” “I can’t deny the Caesar, can I?”  
Gaius sighed.

“I’ll go see him tomorrow. If they let me in the Palace, and Caesar asks me, then I’ll agree to whatever he wants.”

“You’re hoping he will have forgotten.” “Of course. Wouldn’t you?”  
He heard Gaius shift, perhaps shrugging. “In any case, we need to get some slaves.” Lucius frowned. “Already?”  
“What? You expect me to do the cooking and shopping just because you freed me? If that’s it, I will pay you back.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Then? What’s your problem?” Gaius shifted again, preparing for a fight. “Nothing. I just…”  
“I’ll do it. You don’t have to worry about it.” “Fine.”  
“Lucius? Shut up. You know I’m right.” “I do,” Lucius sighed. “I’m tired.”  
“Me too. Sleep well.” “You too.”  
And even though he was scared of going to the Palace, scared that Commodus would go through with this stupid idea and give him Cassianus, scared that Commodus would have forgotten all about it, he still fell  
asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

&*&*

But his Fortune was stranger than he expected. Not only Commodus hadn’t forgotten, but he gave Lucius an escort of praetorian guards to go to Claudianus immediately, while he sent others to gather the witnesses.

Lucius cursed his luck. He should have waited a few more days. Perhaps then Commodus would have forgotten. Or Cassianus would have fled, or at least had more time with his family. Lucius felt like the worst barbarian, or a beast.

Claudianus had a large, sprawling house up the Caelian Hill, but Lucius tried not to look around. Or raise his eyes up from the marble floor. Every time he did that, he found slaves watching him, accusing him, judging him, condemning him. Their hatred and disgust was almost tangible, thick and heavy like a rain of dust. And even if he tried to apologize, they wouldn’t listen.

Not that he could apologize. There was nothing he could say.

The guards stopped at a courtyard with columns of deep red marble, and one of them went inside. Even though he tried not to look, he still couldn’t help seeing the altar to the house gods, this one more magnificent than the shrine they had at their villa on the Via Appia, and the funerary masks of members of the family on the wall. It made him think of a cemetery, rather than how old and proud and important this family was.

He couldn’t help seeing the garden with the fountain in the middle, and the statues all around it. This was a garden of generals and philosophers, both Greek and Roman. This was the house of an old family with taste, culture and power. He had no place being there.

Yet, when the witnesses started arriving, the city prefect among them looking at him with undisguised contempt, Lucius held his head up and pretended he didn’t care. If they judged him a beast, and condemned him for it, then he would let them think so. If they couldn’t understand that this was not his doing, then he would not try to explain himself. If he was made to play the role of the beast, then he would play it to perfection.

Would he have to play the beast in front of Cassianus too?

When all the witnesses had gathered, Claudianus appeared with his son behind him. He was dressed in a toga, but Cassianus wore a himation, and he kept his eyes on the ground.

Lucius suddenly couldn’t speak. Even like this, he found the young man beautiful. He was a beast. As disgusting as a Centaur, getting drunk at the banquet he was invited, and trying to rape the bride afterwards. Or maybe the young men. He was a beast.

Claudianus took a deep breath. “According to what the Caesar commanded, I give you my son. I hope this will teach him a lesson,” he said coldly. He avoided looking back, where Cassianus glowered down.

Lucius swallowed. This was not what he wanted.

“If you do not agree,” Claudianus said like this was of no importance to him, “then I’ll give him to Caesar to punish him as he sees fit.”

“I do,” Lucius answered hastily, glancing at the young man. Who knew what Commodus would do, if he got  
Cassianus? The young man glared at him, and then looked down immediately. “I do,” Lucius said again.

“Then, let us proceed, according to law and custom in front of these witnesses.” Claudianus took the bronze ingot from a slave and handed it to Lucius, looking serene and unaffected by the whole procedure.

The ingot was heavy, smooth and cold in his hands. It looked new and Lucius focused on that. But he couldn’t help noticing how one of Claudianus’ men guided Cassianus forward, full of reverence and care for the young man, and casting hateful glances towards his master.

Silanianus grinned, and Lucius wished Jupiter would strike him down. How dare he find joy in this? Lucius felt sick.  
The balance holder took a step forward. The balance was made of bronze too, and looked like one a merchant might use, a poor one at that, or one with no concern about aesthetics. Still, it shone in the sunlight like a thing of beauty.

He looked at the witnesses. The one that couldn’t hide his grin. The one who looked pale and sickened. The one looked more embarrassed than anything else. The prefect that kept staring at the ground, as if the earth could open up and swallow him if he stared long enough. Only one of them tried to plea wordlessly with Claudianus, his gaze both sorrowful and insistent.

He also dared look at Cassianus, and for a moment their eyes met. For a moment, the young man stared at him not in anger, but disbelief. ‘You will go through with this mockery of a sale?’ he seemed to ask, his eyes shining, his face so pale, that he looked like he’d just stepped out of one of Zeuxis’ famous monochrome paintings.

When Lucius looked away, ashamed, Cassianus looked down again. He glanced once more, and this time, there was nothing but grief in his expression. It made Lucius think of that other painting he’d seen, the one with Iphigeneia about to be killed. The maiden, though, twisted her body in the arms of her captors, and lifted her hands to the heavens, begging for mercy. Because she had moved, her himation no longer covered her, and the sight of her virginal body, made her approaching sacrifice even more pathetic.

Cassianus, though, was so wrapped up in his mantle, Lucius could only see his head, his clenched hands, and his feet. Yet, Lucius knew the colour of his skin, and the shape of his body. He remembered, and so he could imagine what lay beneath the off-white himation. He imagined, and his shame was greater.

The balance holder coughed.

Lucius looked at Claudianus, and saw no shame or remorse in his expression. Why didn’t he blame the emperor for this, but blamed Cassianus instead? He swallowed and reached out for Cassianus. Lucius touched an edge of his himation first, the one that hung over his right hand, but the balance holder made a disapproving grimace. When he took hold of Cassianus’ wrist, Cassianus froze under his touch. It was as if Lucius was crushing his bones instead of holding him as lightly as he would have held a sparrow.

“This,” Lucius said, and his voice was but a whisper. He cleared his throat. “This man I claim as belonging to me…” He stopped, caught in the snare of Cassianus’ eyes, and shivered. What was he doing? “By quiritiary law, and he is purchased to me by this ingot and this scale of bronze.” He finished quickly and struck the balance with the ingot. Claudianus moved forward. Giving him the ingot didn’t make him feel like he had stopped carrying a burden, though.

“Well,” Claudianus said, handing the ingot to one of his attendants. He stared at Lucius, and then, looked briefly at his son. “Well,” he said again.

The prefect sighed. “My father-in-law had praised my eloquence, yet I find myself speechless on this occasion. Truly, a rock gave you birth, and Hyrcanian tigers their milk.”

“It may well be so,” Claudianus answered arrogantly. “For he,” he glanced once more at Cassianus, “brought this upon himself, and what duty does a father have towards a son so ungrateful and unruly?”

Cassianus looked away, and Lucius realized he was still holding his wrist. He let him go, and winced when  
Cassianus started rubbing his skin where Lucius had touched him.

“Take care of him, if you can,” Claudianus said, and then turned away, his friends thronging around him, speaking in such hushed voices Lucius couldn’t make out what they said.

“What are you waiting for?” Claudianus asked him, and his voice was sharp and loud, the voice he must have used to command his men in battle.  
Cassianus flinched, as if his father had never raised his voice at him, and looked at his father for a moment. Claudianus was the one to look away this time, and Lucius was certain he saw him redden. But then  
Claudianus went into his rooms and his friends followed him.

The slaves kept staring at him with hatred. Lucius cleared his throat. “We should go,” he said, and his voice didn’t come out. He had to say it again. “You want to say goodbye?”  
Cassianus flinched again, and nodded. “I’ll… I’ll wait outside.”  
He walked towards the exit and hoped that Cassianus wouldn’t come out. He wished he had the strength to tell Cassianus that, as his Master, he only wanted what was best for him. That he didn’t mind if Cassianus stayed with his family. But he couldn’t say that.

He wanted Cassianus to stop flinching when he saw Lucius. He wanted him to smile. He wanted… Gods, what did he want?

But Cassianus did come out, still wrapped up in his mantle and when he covered his head like the most modest Greek youths Lucius had ever met, Lucius couldn’t tell if it was out of shame or sorrow. But he didn’t say anything, and guided him towards his house instead. Every now and then he wanted to turn back, make sure the young man was following him, but he didn’t dare.

Was that what Orpheus had felt when he had guided Euridike out of Hades? This fear and curiosity? But Orpheus can’t have felt the shame Lucius felt. Orpheus was trying to get his wife back, he’d fought for her with all his skills and love, and his curiosity was because of his desire. But Lucius hadn’t earned Cassianus with skills or love or anything. He’d got him, and he didn’t deserve him. All the gods knew he didn’t.

“Here we are,” he said, and still didn’t dare turn around. He walked inside the house and Gaius was there already. From the way his brother was staring at him, he knew that Cassianus was still behind him. “Erm.”

Gaius blinked. “I see,” he said, frowning. He stood up. “I got us two slaves.” He clapped his hands loudly, and a man in his early thirties came out, followed by a young woman, almost a girl. “This is Phoenix, and this is Hermione. He claims he’s a cook of great skill, and Hermione is a woman of many talents.”

Lucius nodded. “Well done.” He gestured towards Cassianus, but didn’t look back. “This is Cassianus.” “That is not a slave’s name,” Gaius said.  
Lucius heard Cassianus draw a sharp breath behind him, and he glared at his brother. “That is his name, Gaius.”

“I’m just saying. I was thinking,” Gaius continued a moment later as if nothing had happened, “we can give the two rooms at the back to Hermione and Phoenix.”

“What about Cassianus?”

Gaius shrugged. “We need separate rooms for them.”  
“For him too.” He hated talking about Cassianus as if he wasn’t there. “Phoenix can sleep in the kitchen.” Gaius glared at him, and motioned the slaves out of the courtyard. “I’m going out,” he said, and this time he  
looked suspiciously behind Lucius. “Don’t wait up.”

Lucius sighed. He couldn’t tell if his brother was angry, or if thought this was the right thing to do.

He turned towards Cassianus. The young man stood still, avoiding Lucius’ gaze. There was something about his stance that brought back a memory from his youth. He must have been fifteen, and one of the mares was giving birth. His father had taken him to see it, and it was unexpectedly beautiful. The foal was all trembling, long limbs as it learned how to stand for the first time, its eyes surprised, and only its mother’s presence next to it had made it stop shivering. Lucius had always thought horses were elegant, but they were also strong and powerful. That foal, though, it was all elegance, all grace, all beauty.

Cassianus reminded him of that foal, and Lucius wanted nothing else but to prove as reassuring to him as the mare had been to her child. He smiled gently and, as if sensing that, Cassianus looked at him. Lucius’ words died in his throat. It wasn’t my fault, he suddenly wanted to say, and apologize, and make the hatred go away. “Erm… welcome,” he managed.

Cassianus snorted.  
Lucius bit his lips. “I hope you’ll like it here. I know it’s not much, but… I want you to see this as your new home now.”

“It is my new home,” Cassianus said coldly. “Since I belong to you now.” “Erm…”  
“No need for you to ask me to consider it as such, since it is.”

Lucius blinked. You’re angry, and hurt, but I am not your enemy, he thought but the words wouldn’t come out. “I’m not good with words,” he muttered. Then he took another deep breath, and smiled again. “Maybe you need to rest. You must have had a long day.”

Cassianus looked at him with both hatred and pity. “If that is all.” “It is.”  
“Then I’ll excuse myself.” He took one step forward and then he stopped. “Where should I go?” His hands were clenched so tightly, the knuckles had turned white.

“I’ll show you,” Lucius said and moved quickly, not daring to look back. He guided Cassianus through the courtyard and towards the back, where the rooms for the slaves were. “It’s not much, but I hope it will be adequate for now,” he said as he opened the door.

He felt even more ashamed as he peered inside. The room was even more pathetically small now that he looked at it with Cassianus behind him, darker and smellier too. And Gaius hadn’t even bought mattresses, even a cheap one, made of straw. Where did he expect the slaves to sleep? On the floor? “Erm….”

“That will be enough,” Cassianus told him tightly, arrogantly even. He pushed past Lucius, and stood in the middle of the room.

“Erm, I’ll leave you alone now. If you need anything…” Cassianus tensed further.  
Lucius closed the door behind him. What had he done? He knew he shouldn’t have accepted this. He heard a soft sound from inside the room, and stuck his ear to the door. He couldn’t tell if Cassianus was swearing, or crying, or hitting the floor with his hands. But, he’d promised he’d leave him alone.

But even though he went back out into the courtyard, he wished there was something he could do to make Cassianus feel better. But he couldn’t think of anything, and that hurt him almost as much as knowing that he couldn’t find words to make things better.

**********

Lucius woke up feeling groggy and ill. As he stood up, the day before flashed before his eyes. Cassianus was really given as a mancipated slave to him. And then, instead of doing anything, he left Cassianus alone and drunk himself to sleep. Perhaps Gaius was right calling him a fool.

There was a jug with water by his bed, and Lucius emptied it on his head. It didn’t help clear his mind, but it was refreshing. He wiped his face and hair with the sheet, slipped on the tunic he was wearing the night before and went out of his room and into the courtyard.

The sunlight, harsh and inexorable, made him blink. He rubbed his eyes once more. Gaius coughed.  
“Mornin’.” “Hm.”  
Lucius snorted. Gaius must have been the one to leave the water for him. His gratitude vanished the next  
moment. “You didn’t even get some straw for them to sleep.” Gaius frowned. “Lucius, can’t it wait?”  
“No. Let’s go. We need to buy stuff.”

“For the slaves?” Gaius asked, incredulous. “They’re just slaves, they don’t need it.” “What’s wrong with you?”  
“What’s wrong with you?” Gaius asked back, glaring at him like he was the one behaving like a madman.

“They’re people too,” he said, but his stomach grumbled. Lucius looked at it, embarrassed. He was trying to make a point there, but his body had other ideas.

Gaius bit his lips like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to continue being angry, or laugh. “Let’s get something to eat first,” he said, lips curling in slight amusement.

Lucius followed him outside. The smell of honey bread was as inexorable as the light. “Let’s go there,” he said, guided by his nose.

“Hello,” he said politely to the woman behind the counter.

“Hello to you too,” she said, and leaned forward. Her face was slightly wrinkled, but her breasts were full and inviting.

He smiled at her, one more wondering about her age. She must have been his age, yet she looked at least ten years older. “I moved here, because your bread smelled delicious.”

Gaius hit the back of his head. “We’ll have one honey bread and one soft bread,” he said, smiling. “Don’t mind my brother. He’s an idiot.”

“I’m not.” He smiled at her again, a slow, lazy smile.

She smiled back. “I’m Daphne. I’ve been living here since forever. If you need anything, just let me know.” Lucius noticed that she gave him a honey bread that looked twice as big as Gaiu’s loaf, and hid his grin. One day, Gaius would understand why it paid to be nice to everyone.

&*&*

Maybe Gaius was hungry too, because he stayed silent while he ate, even as he looked around. There were shops everywhere, and everything was affordable, not as expensive as in the shops near the Amphitheatre. Lucius knew he would like this place.

“So, pillows,” he said as they saw a shop advertising luxurious pillows stuffed with the softest feathers.

Gaius followed his gaze. “They’re slaves,” he mumbled. “The law says we only need to feed and clothe them, nothing about giving them beds, or rooms,” he added more loudly.

“You were grateful when you had a room to sleep, and even more grateful when you didn’t have to share one.”

Gaius huffed and looked away, managing to look both angry and embarrassed. “I forgot to see if the rooms had mattresses. I assumed they would have,” he muttered.

“We’ll see to it later, then.” Lucius stopped in front of a shop selling fabric. “We’ll need clothes too,” he said. “They’re for our slaves,” Gaius said, still disapproving.  
“I have just the thing,” the shop-keeper said, and went towards the small ladder at the back of the room. “Eutychia,” he shouted, “bring down one a bolt of the dark wool, you know the one I mean. Now, woman. We have customers.”  
“Come and get it yourself.”

The man turned around, and bowed apologetically. “She’s…”

“What?” she shouted. “I’m what? Speak your mind, clearly, you coward. If you want to say something bad about me, then tell it to my face, and don’t pretend we have customers.”

The man made a gesture, indicating a full belly. “She’s fat?” Lucius whispered.  
Gaius hit him again. “Pregnant, idiot.” “Oh.”  
“Oh, he says.” Gaius snorted and smiled at him.

Lucius watched as the man climbed up the ladder himself. “We do have customers,” he said meekly as he went upwards.

“I don’t care. You keep me locked up in here, saying it’s for my own good, when it’s clear that you’re ashamed of me, and you want to treat me like your slave. I’m not your slave, Celer, no matter what you think.”

“Eutychia,” he whined. “Just give me the fabric.” Gaius chuckled.  
Lucius nodded his head wisely. “Women,” he muttered when he saw Celer come down, carrying a dark bolt of woollen fabric on his back.

Celer sighed.

“I heard that,” his wife shouted.

“What do you think?” Celer said, clearly wanting to avoid the subject of his wife.

Lucius shrugged. “It’s fine?” he asked. He touched it experimentally. “It looks good.” It felt hard and heavy and the idea of making Cassianus wearing something so ugly made his chest tighten.

“You’ll need some thicker cloth too, for the winter cloaks. I’ll…” “It’s fine,” Gaius said.  
“Oh, but you’re a giant. You can carry everything,” Lucius grinned.

Gaius made a face, and Lucius ignored him. Of course his brother could carry everything. Gaius was big.

&*&*

Exactly as Lucius had expected, Gaius did carry everything. Well, almost. Lucius got saddled with carrying the vegetables for their evening meal, even though Gaius knew very well how Lucius hated vegetables. “You should have bought a mule,” he complained to Gaius.

“You can use your slave,” Gaius answered back, smiling annoyingly.

“I can’t,” he said before thinking. But even after thinking, he still couldn’t imagine Cassianus shopping. “Then, what will you have him do? He’s yours, is he not?”  
Lucius wished the sun had set and the night fallen already, because he was certain Gaius could see the way his cheeks had reddened. “He is,” he admitted, “but…”  
“But, what?”

“He’s…” different, was one word Lucius could use. But ‘precious’ was the one that first came to mind. Gaius shrugged. “That’s trouble waiting to happen, if you ask me.”  
“No one asked you.”  
Gaius snorted. “Then, don’t come to me when you start having problems with your precious new thing.” Lucius looked at his brother. Had he read his mind? Was Lucius so obvious? But Gaius had already moved  
ahead, and all Lucius could see was his back. It reminded him of running behind Father, trying to understand why he did anything, trying to make him stop and look at him. But just like Father, Gaius didn’t stop until they were home.

When they arrived, they heard Phoenix and Hermione arguing, but it was difficult to understand what they said.

“Phoenix, Hermione,” Gaius shouted. “Come here. Now.”

Hermione came out first, looking upset. Phoenix shuffled behind her, and it was obvious that he’d rather be elsewhere.

"What happened?"

Phoenix looked pleadingly at Hermione. She stared stubbornly back. Yet no one spoke. “Well? My brother asked you a question,” Lucius said, a little more softly than Gaius. "It’s about your slave." Gaius snorted suddenly. “That’s why they’re scared.”  
Lucius took a deep breath. “Is that true?”

Hermione nodded. “I think he ran away,” she said slowly, looking at Phoenix. He was wringing his hands together, and looking away from him.  
"What?" He stood still, waiting to hear, to understand.

"Master,” Phoenix said, still avoiding him, and looking more anxious, “I was just cleaning the fish for tonight and…"

Lucius cut him off. "What of Cassianus?" Where could he have run away? Stupid question. He could have run away anywhere. "How long has he been gone?"

Gaius glared at Phoenix. The man looked away. "I'm not sure, Master. I only realised it when I asked him to go out and buy some herbs that were missing. When he didn't answer, I went to look for him and couldn't find him anywhere."

"When was that?" Lucius repeated, wanting to bang Phoenix' head against the wall. "Why didn't you go after him?”

Phoenix shrugged helplessly. Hermione bit her lips, and kept her mouth shut.

Gaius snorted. "I told you that man is trouble. We'll be better off if no one brings him back." "Gaius."  
"What? It's the truth." Gaius ran his hands through his hair, and put down everything. “Hermione, you are to make clothes out of this,” he told her. “You said you know how, right?”

“Yes, Master.”  
Lucius shook his head. “How can you be so indifferent?”

"You don't want to listen to reason, then at least listen to sentiment." Gaius suddenly turned toward Phoenix. "I thought you were busy making dinner. What are you doing here still? Hermione, leave us."

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He ran back to the kitchen, and Hermione followed him, whispering something to herself, or maybe Phoenix.

Gaius’ expression softened the moment they were alone. "Lucius, I'm afraid you will get hurt. No father in his right mind would do what Claudianus did."

"The emperor made him."

Gaius looked at him strangely. "Would you have given your son as a slave to another man to someone's command, even if that man were the emperor?"

Lucius looked down. He would have rather died, or killed his son himself before he saw him become a slave. "Then maybe he's crazy?"

"Or not. I can't claim I know his mind, but I know that it's best for people like us to stay away from people like them. I hated it when you were so free with the emperor." Gaius leaned against a column, but moments later he slid down on the ground, as if his legs couldn't support him. He looked up pleadingly. "Each time you opened your big mouth, I was terrified. I thought, 'now he will push him too far and that will be the end of Lucius.' I was scared. I don't say this lightly." Gaius reached a hand towards him, his expression that of a supplicant. "Lucius, please, let him go."

The door behind Lucius creaked open, and Gaius jumped up.

Cassianus, wearing his himation again, looked surprised for a second, perhaps even ashamed, but then his expression changed. "Hm," he said haughtily, as if they were the slaves and he'd just caught them doing something unpleasant, if not indecent.

Lucius whirled around, not paying much attention to Gaius and the way he was frowning in anger and frustration, and grabbed Cassianus by the arm. He slammed him against the wall and pressed his hand on the base of his neck. Cassianus didn't even flinch, but continued regarding him with the same arrogance.

"Where the fuck were you?" "Out."  
"Out?"

"Out," Cassianus repeated, staring at him without any emotions or concern. "I thought I was your slave," he suddenly added coldly, "not your prisoner."

Lucius glanced at Gaius, but his brother had already left the courtyard. "You're not my prisoner," he said, releasing him.

"Then you don't expect me to stay here all the time, do you? Slaves can still move, can’t they?" Cassianus rubbed his throat for a second.

"When they do their master’s bidding,” Lucius said angrily, and Cassianus looked down, almost cringing and pressing himself against the wall.

“I expect you to…" What did he expect? He sighed, not knowing what to do. "When you first came here, I told you to consider this place as your home."

Cassianus bit his lips.

"I won't pretend I understand you or what you are thinking. When I joined Priscus' family, and gave up my freedom, it was my own choice. The only choice I had, if I wanted to protect my brother." Lucius smiled, surprised that he was telling this to a stranger, even if that stranger was his property now. "So, I followed the rules they gave me, and I was obedient to my Master."  
Cassianus frowned a little. But his cheeks had begun to redden in embarrassment. "Did I tell you anything else? Did I give you any rules to live by?"  
Cassianus stared at him stupidly.

"Did I?" Lucius shouted, exasperated. "Answer me. With words."

This time, Cassianus flinched. "You didn't," he said in a small voice. He even lowered his eyes. "Then why did you do this? Hermione thought you'd run away."  
"I had to … there were some things I had to do," he told him, meeting his gaze for a moment and then looking away from him.

Lucius sighed. He wondered if this was all he would do when it came to his new possession. Cassianus confused him, made him angry with one word, and softened him with one glance. "You could have asked."

Cassianus looked up at that, curious. "Would you have let me go?"

He frowned. He wasn’t sure if he trusted the young man not to leave. "I wouldn't," he said quietly. "So, I was right to go," Cassianus said, lifting his head a little, defiantly.  
Lucius closed his eyes. When he opened them, Cassianus was still leaning against the wall, waiting, proud and confident that he had done what was right, not caring about the consequences. "I could have you whipped."

"You could," Cassianus agreed calmly.

Gaius was right; this was trouble. If he claimed that Cassianus was his slave, then he should treat him like one, before Phoenix and Hermione rebelled too. But, he probably didn't realise his position yet. Perhaps he needed more time than Lucius or Gaius had ever needed to adjust to their slavery. "I don't care what you do, but I don't want you to leave the house again without getting mine or Gaius’ permission first."

Cassianus bit back a snort.  
"Go to the kitchen and make yourself useful. It would be good for you to learn how to do something." Cassianus froze. He kept his eyes down as he moved to the back of the house, his expression betraying  
nothing.

Lucius closed his eyes again. Perhaps Gaius was right. What was he thinking, allowing this man into his life?

&*&*

All night he thought about going to Claudianus, and ask him to take his son back, Commodus’ wishes be damned. But when he woke up in the morning, and walked out of his room, he caught a glimpse of the young man. Cassianus was staring towards the sun, still as a statue. The light fell on him like a cascade of water, pure, warm, radiant. The top of his head was golden, like he was wearing a crown.

Even Venus’ beautiful son could not compare. Cupid had never been touched by the Sun, after all, never been kissed by his rays of light with such blatant desire, as that shown to Cassianus.

Lucius shuddered and went back to his room before the young man could detect his presence. He couldn't give him back. And he wondered if they had been right, all those people telling him that what he’d felt was desire.

&*&*

Sometime later, he went out of his room again, but Cassianus was nowhere to be seen. Hermione was in the courtyard, though, eating a piece of leftover bread from the night before, and olives. She looked unkempt,  
like she’d just woken up, and Lucius smiled at her. The sun painted her skin the colour of bronze, warm and soft at the same time.

When she made to stand up, he motioned her to stay put. “When you see Cassianus, tell him he is to help Phoenix in the kitchen today too.” He smiled. He had enjoyed running in the kitchen when he was a child; he had liked learning about the different ingredients and had loved tasting the different foods even more. Hopefully, Cassianus would like it a little too.

She nodded. “And the Master?”

“The Master will go to the Baths.” He needed to clear his head and think.

Lucius got out of the house, thanking his luck that Daphne’s honey bread was so good. But the scent that was coming from her shop that day was even better.

“Hello, honey.” Daphne leaned over the counter, giving him a very good view of her assets.

“Hello, Daphne. I want two small must cakes.” There was nothing he liked more than the sweet and slightly tangy combination of must and cheese, together with the sharpness of anise and cumin to start his day, even though Gaius thought it disgusting. And after the night he’d had, he deserved two.

“Two? Oh, honey, don’t they feed you in your house?”

Lucius looked down at his clothes, and realised how dishevelled he must have looked. He grinned, rubbing his eyes. “They do. You don’t look well yourself. Long night?”

Daphne laughed. “What do you think?” She went back, sashaying for his benefit.

That, more than anything, made Lucius feel that perhaps all those women who had slept with him, hadn’t wanted him because of his fame. If he smiled a little more, if he gave her a small present, then she too would sleep with him.

She came back. “There you are.”

Lucius reached for his purse, and handed her the money. “Keep the change,” he told her. Her smile made her look at least twenty.  
He bit into the roll as he moved down the street, using eating as an excuse for not saying ‘good morning’ or  
‘hello’ to the shop keepers of all the tabernae lining the street. He did nod, wave, and smile, though, because he didn’t want to be seen as a bad neighbour.

By the time he’d reached the end of the Portico of Livia he’d devoured both rolls, greeted more people than a patrician receiving his clients, or an aspiring politician and he felt grimy and miserable. Only the thought of reaching his favourite bathhouse kept him from screaming at the tenth person who bumped into him and made him hit his back against a wall.

He’d never imagined freedom to be so uncomfortable.

&*&*

Rome was full of bathhouses, from the grand imperial ones to small ones, but Lucius’ favourite was a tiny  
one in the valley between the Caelian and the Palatine hills. It was close enough to the Flavian Amphitheatre to be in ‘his neighbourhood’ and sometimes gladiators went there when they wanted to avoid their noisy  
fans, or their annoying masters.

People still called it 'the Bath of Charinus', regardless of how many years had passed since Charinus' death. Charinus had been quite the character, after all. A true pervert. But how much of that was true, and how much was because of a smug poet's writings, Lucius couldn't say. Yet. The poets were right; their words remained long after they had gone, and they had enough power in them to destroy reputations for many, many years.

He wished no one ever wrote poetry for him. He wouldn’t want to be immortalised in verse, either for his  
skills in fighting, his prowess with women, or anything else. "Nosy busybodies," he muttered as he paid the entrance fee.  
Vitalis, the baths manager, grinned. "It brings me great honour to see you here." "Does it?"  
"Lucius of a hundred victories. Of course it's an honour." "Even now?"  
"Now more than ever." Vitalis motioned a slave attendant forward. "You don’t have to frequent my establishment any longer."

Lucius snorted. It was probably too small and dark, the heating was never adequate, but he felt comfortable there.

"Won't you exercise first?" Vitalis asked when he saw Lucius remove his tunic.

"I've built up enough sweat coming here, friend." He grinned. "It is hot today." It was like the summer refused to end this year.

"It is."

Vitalis laughed. "I see freedom hasn't changed you. You still talk as much as ever."

Lucius smiled, gave his things to the slave and moved inside the bathhouse. The slave followed him. Lucius let himself be oiled and scraped clean, and then he slid inside the pool of lukewarm water. "It's quiet today." Not many people seemed to be using the baths.

"It is as you say, Master."

Lucius frowned with curiosity. "Where are you from? You're new here?" "I am. I'm from Phrygia."  
Lucius nodded. No wonder the accent had sounded familiar. "Rome is beautiful," he said. The slave shrugged.  
Lucius leaned back, half-closed his eyes and studied him. He could have been as old as Cassianus, but his face was lined with wrinkles, his body marked by previous beatings. "Vitalis is a good man," he said. "Just, when you do what you're told."

The slave smiled a little. "He promised he wouldn't hit me." Then he frowned. Kneeling by the side of the pool, he came close to Lucius and whispered in his ear. "How do you know? Are you a slave too?"

"Didn't you hear?" Lucius grinned. "I'm free now."

"Oh." The slave looked remarkably impressed. He ran his hand over Lucius' shoulder. "Your Master must have been kind to you," he said, caressing Lucius' upper arm, testing the muscles with a light squeeze. There was a question in his eyes, and an offer in his smile.

Lucius smiled back. The other reason people still called these baths, the Baths of the Pervert.

Emboldened, the slave rubbed Lucius' shoulders. "Perhaps you could show some kindness to me, and share some of your luck?"

Lucius let his head fall back. The slave looked nothing like Cassianus, but his eyes were soft, and his mouth was pretty. He lifted his hand, and touched the slave's wrist. "What is your name?"

"Eros."  
Lucius smiled again. The slave looked nothing like Aphrodite's fair-skinned and rosy-cheeked son, with his naturally dusky complexion, made darker by the sun, and no hint of roses blooming on his face. This was no soft boy, his master's favourite, nor a freeborn with his lover. But he would please Lucius, if Lucius wished it. But not because he was a slave doing his job. Lucius knew desire well, and this Eros desired him.

"There are rooms," Eros whispered.

Lucius stood up slowly, surprised his dick was interested enough to swell at the suggestion. Eros grinned, but didn't mention it.  
Lucius let him show him to the adjacent rooms, perhaps the same rooms where Charinus used to beg the boys to fuck him. And when Eros begged him to fuck him, Lucius obliged.

**********

Lucius came out of the bath, relaxed and knowing why people could be so besotted with boys. The sex was different. But good. At the same time, Lucius had realised that he preferred women. He liked their moans, so much sweeter than a boy’s grunts. He liked their softness, the way their hips and breasts were fleshy, how  
he could find purchase when he fucked, and not have his hand slide on the flat planes of a male body.

But it had still been good. Eros had been tighter than any woman he’d been, and the friction had proven delicious. The way he’s squeezed, and gripped, and pushed him over the edge proved more intense than anything he’d ever felt with any woman. And unlike a woman, he didn’t want to cuddle afterwards, but cleaned him instead with tenderness and gratitude in his soft eyes, and then took him back to the baths, to clean him again. Lucius had liked that.

And when he came back to the house, he liked what he saw. Hermione and Cassianus were sitting in the courtyard, where the light was best for doing work, preparing green beans. They had one big pot for the cleaned ones, and discarded the edges and the thin strings that were inedible in an orderly pile. He could help notice how Cassianus studied every individual pod before snipping the edge and removing the stringy bits. Hermione did everything efficiently, methodically and with great ease.

“Hurry up,” she said the moment she saw him, “The Master is here already. He’ll want his dinner soon,” she whispered.

“I’m fine,” Lucius answered. “I’ve…” eaten something on the way, he started to say, but then Cassianus looked up and Lucius couldn’t speak. He couldn’t understand Cassianus’ expression. The anger was still there, but there was something else too, something strange, and that baffled him. Perhaps the young man was getting used to being part of Lucius’ family. He smiled at that.

Cassianus looked away, but Hermione kept staring at him. Lucius avoided her gaze, and found Gaius’ instead. He grinned, relieved to see his brother, even when his brother was frowning a little, thinking about something. “Dinner won’t be ready any time soon,” he said. “Wanna go out for a drink?”

“Why not?”

&*&*

It took Lucius two days to realise that even though Cassianus seemed to have settled in somehow, he still wouldn’t talk to him. Another day to learn that he wouldn’t talk to anyone, and one more to figure out that even though he tried, his best was just not good enough. It made sense; Cassianus hadn’t even had to tie  
his own sandals before coming to his house, let alone do any work. But Lucius could see that it was a burden to the others.

Only, he couldn’t really tell him anything. Not when he came back, and found him helping Hermione in the courtyard, frowning in concentration, like he was studying something difficult, and not peeling cucumbers, or cleaning artichokes or grating cheese. Not when he could see that Cassianus was trying. No when he could see how the sun lingered on his skin, late afternoon and still wouldn’t leave him, and sometimes, the light caught on his eyes, and they burned with a fire so blue, Lucius was scared.

Not when he’d just spent a good part of the afternoon with Eros, being touched and kissed and worshipped,  
learning the ways of desire between men, and wondering how it would feel to touch Cassianus’ skin. Would it be warm from the Sun-god’s kisses, or cold, pale as it was like the Moon had touched it first?

Perhaps touching would calm the strange desire in Lucius, the kind of desire that made him seek out Eros, and allow his touches, and made him look at youths in the street. But when they looked back, and gave him sidelong glances, he found the young women around him lovelier, more pleasing and more pleasant. Yet, when he was back in the house, and saw Cassianus, serious and silent and calm, he realised that he found none so lovely. Not in painting, or sculpture, or the world.

It was madness. Complete and utter madness, and it made him forgive all of the mistakes Cassianus made, and his slowness at work. It made him forgive everything. Including his silence.

It made him hide in his room, or tell Cassianus to go back into the kitchen, because he wanted to see if the blue fire in Cassianus’ eyes could burn him. He wanted to touch the young man so much, yet how could he? He couldn’t treat Cassianus like a piece of meat, the way people had treated him. He couldn’t lose his self- control when Hermione watched him cautiously, the way he’d seen beaten slaves look at people, the way Eros looked at some of the customers.

But perhaps he was only holding back because of Hermione, because when he saw Cassianus alone in the courtyard the next afternoon, he couldn’t stop himself from speaking, even though he managed to keep himself from touching. But how could he not? Cassianus was leaning against a column with his knees drawn up towards his chest and his eyes closed, his face turned towards the sky like those flowers that love the sun, looking calmer than ever before.

Lucius thanked his mother for liking the plays of Euripides, and reading them out to them. Gaius was the one with the memory for words, but Lucius too remembered some phrases. Especially after he discovered how well he could use them on some cultured ladies, he made an effort to learn more. He smiled, wondering if they would work as well on serious, and probably angry, young men. “You stay quiet? But silence is a poor interpreter of words.”  
Cassianus looked at him, surprised for a moment. “But silence is an ornament, a crown for a man not evil.” Lucius snorted, amused where he should have been angered. “Which games are you competing in, to win  
this crown?”

Cassianus stared at him, unfolding his arms from around his knees. A moment later he was up.

“You used a line from Antiope,” he smiled when he realised that Cassianus wouldn’t answer him. “In these games, is this cheating?”

“It would have been cheating if you have specified from the start that one could use lines from one play only, and not one poet. Yet no one would be as mad as to limit himself to one play, since each tragedy is by its nature limited in its scope, and devoted to a single plot, serious and complete at the same time.”

Lucius grinned. Serious, young men were more slippery than educated ladies. “So you deny cheating,” he said, not finding something else to say, but wanting to continue their discussion.

“I cannot aim for virtue and cheat at the same time.”

Gaius snorted behind him. “Well-spoken.” He clapped Lucius on the back, hurting Lucius a little. “Maybe you should learn something from him.”

“I do not cheat,” he protested to his brother. He turned towards Cassianus again. “Don’t listen to him.” Cassianus almost smiled at that.  
Lucius felt his grin widen. The memory of Cassianus’ smile overpowered him for a second, and he vowed that one day he’d make the young man smile as beautifully. But even so, this was a victory.

Gaius tightened his hold on Lucius’ shoulder. Then he moved away. “Is it time for dinner yet?” Cassianus hurried towards the back, blushing in shame, and looking down.  
“Gaius,” Lucius hissed. “I was talking. We were talking.”

Gaius’ expression was closed. “I know,” he said. “But I’m hungry.”

Lucius sighed. For a while there, he had forgotten that he was hungry too.

&*&*

But the next day, instead of finding Cassianus alone, or even with Hermione, he saw him leaving the house just as he was approaching. Gaius must have permitted it, or so he hoped. He moved towards the entrance, about to ask Gaius, when he changed his mind.

What was Cassianus doing away from the house? Some last minute errand? How would he feel, if Lucius suddenly appeared next to him? Surprised? Annoyed? Gaius wouldn’t have made him buy something heavy, would he? Cassianus wasn’t made for carrying heavy loads. But Lucius was, and wouldn’t the young man be relieved if Lucius came to his aid?

He had to follow Cassianus, past the Baths of Trajan and the Great Gladiatorial Barracks, and straight towards the Caelian Hill. After the temple of the Divine Claudius, Cassianus turned towards the east, where the houses should have been called villas, and where the patricians thronged. Was Cassianus going home, to beg his father to take him back? Lucius couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t imagine how it must have been growing up in one of those magnificent houses with the sprawling gardens and the fountains, surrounded by slaves who did everything for him, and then being thrown in some provincial, former gladiator’s house.

But he’d thought that Cassianus was beginning to settle in, and… Cassianus suddenly turned. Lucius followed him towards the entrance of what promised to be yet another rich, luxurious house, though not that of Claudianus. When Cassianus stopped, he found a hiding spot.

Cassianus knocked on the door, and a few moments later, a man opened the door. He didn’t look like a slave; far from it. He looked free, and rich, and spoiled. Like he spent his morning exercising and his afternoon philosophising, his body strong and powerful beneath his expensive clothes, his face calm and serene. He couldn’t have been older than Lucius, yet he had no care in the world, and knew that he was beautiful and clever and would never lack for anything. Lucius suddenly hated him.

When he pulled Cassianus into a hug, and greeted him with a kiss, Lucius hated him even more. And when Cassianus didn’t stop holding him, letting his head rest against the man’s chest as the man guided him inside the house, Lucius hated them both.

He went back home, shut himself in his room and when Gaius asked him to join him for dinner, he told him to fuck off.

And the next morning, he went to Nero’s Baths, found the prettiest slave there was and fucked him till the boy cried in pain and misery. Then he did it again, just because he could.

And when he came back from the baths, still angry, he found Gaius in his room, waiting for him and looking uncomfortable.

"What's wrong, brother?" "It's about your… slave."  
Lucius grit his teeth. All the anger he had tried to burn out, all the anger that refused to leave him, threatened to take over him. But he had to control himself. "What did he do this time?"

Gaius rubbed his eyes. "Nothing." "And?"  
"That's it, Lucius. I went to the kitchen to get some fruit and I overheard Hermione and Phoenix complain about how useless he was, doing nothing."

"Isn't that to be expected, though?" he snorted, still trying to control himself. Was that the first time Gaius noticed how useless Cassianus really was?  
"Why?" Gaius turned around and pushed down his tunic. "You remember how I got this scar, Lucius? It was on my first week in the barracks, when I refused to obey that ass who wanted me to strike you." He pulled up his garment and turned towards Lucius, taking his arm. "And you got this, for refusing to hit me." Gaius stood quiet. "It's not right that he gets away with things that would get any other slave punished. It doesn't give a good example."

Lucius pulled back.

Gaius sighed. "Lucius," he said softly. "I… I've seen how you look at him. If you won't have him work, at least take him to your bed. It will make the others keep quiet." Gaius smiled a little. "It will probably make you happy too."

Lucius closed his eyes. Gaius was right. "Can you tell him to come here? I…" "I understand, Lucius."  
Lucius kept his eyes closed and his hands closed into tight fists. He had respected the young man, controlled himself even though he had wanted to touch him, forgave him his mistakes, pretended he didn’t care that Hermione and Phoenix had to do extra work, and for what?

"Lucius," Gaius said gently.

He knew that opening his eyes would be a bad idea, but he did it anyway. He was no coward. Gaius stood by the door, leaving no option for Cassianus but to stand between them.

Cassianus stared at him, his expression calm, like always, and Lucius wanted to rip that expression away. He remembered the man kissing him, and how Cassianus had responded to it, with a quiet joy that Lucius had never seen. He hated him. Hated them both.

"They tell me that you don’t do anything around the house," he said, glancing at Gaius, who nodded at his words. "I am trying to be a good master to you, but you will have to be a… Lucius stopped. His throat felt raw, and just thinking of the words made him sick. "A good slave," he finished, knowing this was a lie. Cassianus was trying. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Cassianus flinched and looked down, frowning.

It was an unbearable sight. The dark tunic only made Cassianus' skin look whiter, and he wanted Cassianus to tremble before him not in fear, but desire. But if fear was what would get him what he wanted, then so be it. "Look at me," he ordered.

Cassianus lifted his head up slowly. There was no fear in his eyes. "Yes? Master?"

Cassianus had a way with words, twisting even the simplest word into something vicious and Lucius felt he was being mocked. Was that the result of being with his rich, patrician friends up in the Caelian? For a while, Lucius had believed that Cassianus was beginning to find his place in Lucius’ house. For a while, Lucius had believed that if he waited, then Cassianus would touch him on his own free will, just like Eros had. For a  
while he’d hoped. But nothing good ever happened to him, even the things that seemed good at first.

He stood up, and crossed the small distance between them. "I have tried to be patient," he whispered, words coming out harshly from a throat too tight, his body suddenly too tense, and thrumming with all of his suppressed desire. He touched Cassianus lightly on the shoulder and closed his eyes for a second. His hand seemed to fit that angled curve so perfectly. He put more pressure and pushed him down.

Cassianus looked up at him blankly, but when Lucius started removing his belt, that was replaced by fear. Indeed, let him think that Lucius would hit him. Lucius smiled, thinking how wrong this was, how this was not what he wanted. He ran his fingers in soft, dark hair, and then grabbed a fistful of it, keeping Cassianus' head up. Cassianus' cheeks reddened, and the more Lucius watched, the more he blushed, and was beginning to get angry.

Lucius smiled again. Even in anger, he looked so beautiful, and Lucius wished things were different. But they weren’t. He was not a lovelorn fool, a character in some stupid novel the likes of which someone like Macrina would read. He was the Master of his house, and he had every right to do whatever he wanted to his  
property. He started removing his tunic and watched how Cassianus' eyes widened. By the time he had stripped, Cassianus' eyes were huge, and he was no longer blushing, but had turned pale.

Lucius swallowed. Even though this was not how he had imagined being with Cassianus, his dick had hardened. He ran his free hand across it, and shivered at how sensitive it felt. And Cassianus' face was right in front of him, lips soft and pink, like rose-petals, eyes trained on his dick, his horrified gaze shadowed by the longest lashes. His dick twitched in his fingers.

"I tried to wait," Lucius said again, and Cassianus' eyes moved from his cock to his face. There was no hatred left in them anymore, or even fear. Just panic.

"You don't have to do this," Cassianus whispered to him.

His breath was so hot, so gentle, caressing him. Lucius shuddered and tightened his grip, pulling hair and making Cassianus gasp. Another light touch on his dick, light as air. "I don't. But I want to," he lied, and told the truth at the same time. It shouldn't have been like this, but this would also do.

Cassianus shivered. "Please. I'll do anything but this. I beg you."

"Promises given under threat are promises rarely kept," Lucius smirked. He knew that well. "Come on." He pulled Cassianus' head closer, trying to get his mouth where he wanted it.

Cassianus suddenly moved, and put his hands on Lucius' thighs, trying to push Lucius away. He was quite strong, even though he really didn't look it.

Gaius moved, and Lucius blushed. He had completely forgotten Gaius was there. He shook his head. "I will not," Cassianus said and he was both ordering and asking him. "Anything but this."  
Lucius grabbed Cassianus' wrists and tried to move him. Cassianus shot a disgusted look at his right hand, the one he had used to stroke himself, Lucius realised. Then he pushed back. "You're my slave. My property."

"Fine," Cassianus told him angrily. "But I won't do that." "I don't think you can do anything else."  
Cassianus paled further. "Then kill me."

Lucius sighed. He put all his strength and pushed Cassianus back, making him fall on the floor. "I won’t." He knelt over him, pressing his dick over tightly closed lips. "You'll open your mouth, and suck me, like a good, little slave. And then you'll do it again and again, because you're useless for anything else."

Cassianus kept his mouth and his eyes screwed shut, and tried to twist as far away from Lucius as possible. He tried to kick him off, and push him away and it made him think of that old myth, of how when Peleus, Achilles' father, wanted to marry Thetis according to Zeus' command, she tried to escape him. How she'd fought, and transformed herself into wild beasts, but he held on to her, until she gave up. That's how he felt, like Peleus, trying to hold down that slippery, moody goddess and his hands and legs were not enough.

But in the end, Lucius was stronger and Cassianus, just like Thetis, gave up, gasping, with limbs shaking from exhaustion, and his eyes full of unshed, frustrated tears. Lucius shivered too and held on to his prize.  
"You should kill me," Cassianus whispered, looking away from him. "I will not. I won't. Don't ask that of me." "I could take you," Lucius said just as softly. Not that he would at that moment; Cassianus had proved  
stronger than he expected, and the fight had left him tired.

Cassianus trembled. "You could," he said, voice breaking over the realisation that Lucius actually owned him. He turned towards Lucius, his eyes wide, his expression that of a man who expects no mercy. "You will?"

How many men had stared at him like that, their helmets not hiding the resignation in their eyes? How many times had he ignored it, and said it was Fate's will? Not this time. Lucius stood up slowly, and found that Gaius was gone. He picked up his tunic from the floor, and wiped the sweat off of his body.  
Cassianus moved slowly too, first curling in on himself, like a beaten puppy, and then rising slowly. He adjusted his clothes and waited for Lucius' orders with eyes lowered.

"Go. Keep away from my sight."

He sat down, and closed his eyes. When he was certain that he was alone, he lied down and stared at the ceiling. He had done the right thing, hadn't he?

**********

For the next two days he avoided Cassianus. Which wasn't really all that different from how he'd been avoiding him before, but Lucius was putting even greater effort into it.

Yet, the young man's presence couldn't be denied. He could hear Phoenix shouting instructions at him, and Hermione would curse him under her breath as she moved around the house doing her chores. Gaius was right; they ought to get a slave who could do some work.

Yet, he still couldn't bring himself to admonish, let alone punish him. Every time he saw the young man he froze, and every time Cassianus looked at him, Lucius ran out of words. Not that words would have made a difference. The moment he saw Lucius, he paled and froze, and then hurried away from him. And Lucius couldn’t bring himself to ordering him to stay, too scared that he would lose control again.

"I could teach you," he overheard him tell Hermione the second morning. "Men and women are equal. We're all equal."

Hermione snorted. "If we were all equal you'd do the shopping for a change."

Lucius didn't hear Cassianus' answer. He moved quickly away from the kitchen. Men and women were equal? That was just stupid. Only Plato had claimed that, but Plato was stupid. Hadn’t he claimed that Love was the best thing that could happen to a man? Stupid. A while later he saw Cassianus leave the house, a basket in one hand and a slightly confused frown on his face.

He really couldn't punish him. He really wanted to smooth that frown away, and replace it with a smile. He wanted Cassianus to look at him the same way he’d looked at that rich cunt-licker. He wanted to kill that fucker, and make Cassianus hold on to him, and him alone.

What was wrong with him?

&*&*

Lucius came back to his senses with his head aching, and the world spinning around him. A huge, hulking figure of a man towered over him. Gaius. "What happened?"

"You got drunk, that's what happened." Gaius pressed a cold cloth on his temple. "Lyses had his slaves bring you over."

Lucius groaned. The day started coming back to him in bits and pieces: getting angry, going to the baths, meeting Lyses, being invited over for dinner. Drinking too much. "My head feels like someone smashed it against a wall."

"I'm not surprised."

He looked around slowly. "Where is he?" "He," Gaius sighed, "is out."  
"Where?"

"I don't know."

"He ran away?" Lucius's head hurt too much to feel ashamed for the way his voice trembled. If he’d dared go to that rich, stupid cock-sucker, then Lucius would accuse him for harbouring a fugitive slave. Let the fucker  
deal with the law - even if the law was one of Cassianus’ family friends. Cassianus was his.

Gaius smiled, uncaring of his torment. "He asked me if you could go out, and I allowed it." He snorted. "He's learning."

"He shouldn't have to learn at all," Lucius muttered, closing his eyes.

Gaius pressed the cloth on his forehead again. "Rest," he said, and he sounded like he pitied him.

"It's a shame," he mumbled. A shame that he had Cassianus, a shame he had been too afraid to touch him when someone else clearly had no problems putting his hands all over what was his. "I'll break him," he decided. Because if he did, then he could have him.

Gaius snorted again, disbelieving. "Just go back to sleep, Lucius." Lucius did.  
&*&*

After the morning prayer to the household gods, Lucius told his brother to wait. "Today, we will go to the baths," Lucius announced.

"You go to the baths all the time, Lucius," Gaius laughed, looking very unimpressed. "Today is different. We will go to Trajan's Baths."  
"Ah. We? Have you started talking like the emperor, Lucius? Because, you know very well that I have plans for today."

"I know, Gaius. You wanted to buy clothes, right?"

"Books, you idiot." Gaius glared at him for a second. "Well?" "I'll go with Cassianus."  
"Oh."

"What? I need someone to look after my clothes. I think he can do that."

Gaius snorted. "I doubt it. Hermione was saying that she's tired of having to teach him even the simplest things." He frowned. "Maybe I should buy us another slave, Lucius. Someone who could actually do some work in here."

Lucius ignored him. "Cassianus," he shouted. "This is not a slave's name, is it?" Gaius shook his head, half-smiling.  
Lucius was about to ask him why he was smiling like that, when Cassianus appeared on his way from the kitchen, a shopping basket in his hand. As usual, the power of speech left Lucius. The young man paled and Lucius ignored that too. "Don’t move,” he ordered when Cassianus tried to escape, walking hurriedly as  
close to the wall, and as far away from him as possible. Cassianus froze, and didn’t look at him. “I have decided to go to Trajan's Baths today, and you will attend me. Get the oil and the towels and be quick about it. I don’t have all day."

Cassianus kept his eyes down as he fled back to the room where they kept their clothing. Lucius laughed. "See? He's learning."  
Gaius looked away. "Shouldn't he call you Master when you call him?" He turned around. "See you later, brother."

Lucius sighed. Gaius had a point, but Cassianus had neither glared at him and he did obey his command. As far as Lucius was concerned, that was progress.  
&*&*

The Baths of Trajan had been made to compete with the Baths of Nero. The walls were clad in marble of different colours and iridescent mosaics. Statues of Aesculapius and his daughter Hygeia greeted them at the entrance, and when Lucius went into one of the exercise rooms to play ball, he was surrounded by statues of athletes, a chorus of young men guided by Hermes and Heracles.

Cassianus followed him silently, keeping his eyes down, and cringing every time someone brushed him. Lucius considered ordering him to play with him, but some people recognised him, and begged him to join their game.

But perhaps obedience only went that far. The moment they stepped into the changing rooms, Lucius stripped, gave Cassianus his clothes to put in a locked chest, and then waited. Cassianus stared at him.

"What are you waiting for?"

"What am I waiting for?" he asked, with a touch of his old defiance.

"You can't go into the baths like this." Lucius gestured towards Cassianus and then pulled at the tunic he was wearing. "Strip."

"I will not.” He flinched, moving away from Lucius with eyes full of fear.

"Have you never used the baths before? You can't go in there dressed. No one does that." Cassianus snorted. "I've never used public baths," he said.  
"Indeed. Maybe that's why you stink."

Cassianus glared at him for a moment. Then he blushed, looking down. Lucius saw him take a few deep breaths, probably trying to see if he really smelled badly.

Lucius bit his lips in shame. Cassianus didn't stink. In fact, he smelled better than any person he'd ever met, and it was something that had been puzzling him. "You're making a spectacle of yourself. Strip," he said instead.

"I will stay here and guard your things," Cassianus told him quietly, avoiding his gaze.

Someone slapped Lucius on the shoulder, laughing. "That's one troublesome slave you have there, friend." Lucius glanced at the man, fighting down a grimace. He looked more like a pig than a man, short and fat with tiny, beady eyes that were trained on Cassianus with hunger. "Why don't you give him to me? I'll train him properly."

Cassianus stayed where he was, his gaze moving helplessly between Lucius and the pig-man, like he couldn’t decide who was the lesser evil.

Lucius took pity on him. "I think I'll keep him for a while," Lucius said coldly, prying the man's hand off his shoulder.

The man laughed. "But if you change your mind, ask for Tatianus Deinomenes." He spoke to Lucius, but stared at Cassianus, licking his lips.

Lucius snorted, feeling both anger and disgust. He turned towards Cassianus. "I said, strip." More people had started looking at them.

Cassianus shivered. He gave Lucius the most pathetic look he'd seen since Gaius had signed up as a gladiator and had begged for Lucius' forgiveness. Lucius ignored it, the way he had ignored Gaius, and Cassianus looked down again. He lifted the hem of his tunic and started to pull it upwards.

Lucius looked away, embarrassed, and noticed the silence. The people who had been mocking him, or talking among themselves, the people who were staring at them before, were now staring at Cassianus. And they were no longer laughing.  
You'd think they'd never seen a pretty boy before; such was the stillness and the quiet. It reminded him of his youth, and how the older boys at the gymnasium would stop their training when he walked into the palaistra. He remembered Gaius, how he would complain that people stopped and stared at him, and how he'd laughed at his brother's predicament. Poor Gaius, being called 'beautiful' by strangers.

But it wasn’t amusing anymore. He glanced at Cassianus, pale and miserable, and still holding the hem of the tunic in a white-knuckled grip. Then he glared at everyone. "Have you never seen a man before?" Some looked away at that. "What are you? Perverts?" He continued, and that made the rest avoid his gaze.

He grabbed Cassianus' wrist, and Cassianus looked at him for a second, letting go off his garment. "I came here to have a bath," he said. "And I don't care if you want to walk around hot, steamy rooms with your clothes on. Let's go."  
Cassianus grabbed the oil, the strigil and the towels with his free hand, and looked at him in disbelief. Lucius smirked. "You want to be uncomfortable? Why should I care? I want my bath," he said, and at least  
that wasn’t a lie. But he'd rather have Cassianus stand out like an oddity - a dressed slave in the baths, what a paradox - than have every other man leer at him.

From the way Cassianus suddenly smiled, the tiniest, tiny smile, Lucius knew that the young man had seen through him. He refused to smile back. He was trying to establish his mastery over Cassianus, and break his spirit. He wasn't trying to protect Cassianus' strange modesty. He was just jealous of his possession. That was all.

&*&*

Of course, it was a paradox. But what Lucius expected, didn’t happen. He’d though people would laugh mockingly at Cassianus, that maybe he’d have to lie about how his slave was burned or disfigured or something similar, and he was so ugly, he had to wear clothes even in the baths.

“I’ve heard of keeping your presents wrapped, but this is new to me.” A short man in his thirties, with his hair and beard curled fashionably, tried to grab Cassianus’ tunic.

Cassianus hid behind Lucius, his surprise at the lecherous man’s grabbing hands making him forget his fear of Lucius. Lucius smiled. “My present,” he growled, “so keep your hands away.”

Two steps later, another man, this one tall, with wide-shoulders and the short hair of a soldier, did something that made Cassianus bite back a yelp. When Cassianus glared at him, the man grinned and ran his hand across the tunic’s collar. “This could be the start of a new fashion.”

Cassianus blushed, looking down a moment later, his hands curled into fists, his body trembling in unspent anger, or maybe fear. But it was Lucius who punched the impudent cocksucker. “How dare you touch what’s mine?”

Cassianus’ blush deepened.

“Next time, the tunic should be made of linen, or maybe silk. I’ll give you the money for it,” a third man said, leering openly. He seemed to be drooling, and Lucius was disgusted. This one was young and handsome; he shouldn’t be staring like a starved man at the bottom of the table.

They weren’t mocking Lucius for the strangeness of his slave. They kept ogling and trying to lift up Cassianus’ tunic, kept offering Lucius money to make the young man strip. Lucius couldn’t have punched them all, if he tried. He was used to being stared at like a piece of meat, but this was different. Lucius had never realised how a young, pretty slave could be even more desirable than a gladiator for some people.

It made him angry. He escaped in one of the smaller exercising rooms.

“I think you should strip,” he said, making clear from his tone that it was an order, but using gentler words. Cassianus seemed scared enough already. “It would make people notice you less.”

Cassianus stared at him pleadingly. “I could go out and wait.”  
He glared. If Cassianus went out, Lucius wouldn’t be able to protect him. Protect his property, that is. “Why don’t you wear this,” he said, handing him a towel. “Maybe that will stop them.”

That Cassianus nodded, and started removing his garment was an indication of how tired of being ogled he must have been. Lucius turned around, slipped in the pool and looked away. He wasn’t like those perverts. He splashed water over him, and didn’t dare ask Cassianus help him. He didn’t even look back when he got out of the pool and headed towards the room with the big pool with hot water. He knew Cassianus would follow him.

“Hey, boy, come here.”

“Why is your name not on your loincloth? How am I to call you?” “Call him Pretty.”  
“Or Love. Is that your name? Eros? Pothos? Imeros?”

“His name can’t be Desire or Love. It must be Adonis, like the youth that drove two goddesses wild with passion.”

“You can drive me wild with passion anytime, Pretty.”

Lucius took a deep breath. “Enough,” he shouted, turning around, and seeing several people freeze. He wished he hadn’t seen Cassianus, staring resolutely at the floor, trying to ignore his admirers. He wished he hadn’t noticed how lovely Cassianus was, both boy and man, his body not yet that of a fully-grown man, not that of a child anymore. A strong, perfectly formed and proportioned body that still retained the softness of adolescence. The body of a victorious athlete that should have been worshipped by spectators and sculptors alike.

He also wished he hadn’t seen the fingerprints that insolent hands had made on Cassianus’ arms. He wished he hadn’t made Cassianus so afraid to tell him that people had groped him. Or that maybe Cassianus hadn’t been so proud to tell him. Some of these marks were days old. Had he told his rich, spoilt lover? Instead of anger, he felt grief.

He grabbed the tunic that Cassianus was trying to hold in such a way that would reveal less of himself. As if there were any clothes that could hide what he was. Lucius’ first impression had been correct; the young man must have been a god taken flesh on a whim, or a god’s favourite.

He shivered, even though the room was more than warm. All gods hurt their mortal lovers, and then they were gone. And if Cassianus was loved by a god, then that was even worse. The gods didn’t like their favourites to stay on earth long.

“Put this on,” he said gruffly, dressing Cassianus himself despite his words. Cassianus juggled the things he was holding, wiggled his arms and put them through the sleeves. Lucius shivered again. This was like teaching Gaius how to dress, with Cassianus showing him exactly the same trust that Gaius had. And exactly the same gratitude, his big, blue eyes shining and never leaving Lucius’.

Lucius swallowed. “Come,” he said, ignoring the way his voice cracked. “I want a warm bath.”

And even though people still offered Lucius money to make his slave strip, at least they didn’t touch him.

&*&*

Lucius lowered himself on the bench. His whole body felt loose and relaxed, heat lingering in his muscles from the warm bath. He closed his eyes, smirking as he snapped his fingers. "I want my massage. Now." What a difference from when he was still a gladiator. No more disgruntled slaves who could barely speak his language. No more harsh professionals who saw him like a piece of meat to be prepared for slaughter. Although he had always suspected that it was because Symmachos envied him that only the worst of the slaves looked after his needs at the barracks. Oh, well, it didn’t matter anymore.

Now he had his own, personal slave to take care of his needs. And what a slave that was. Well-bred and proper, and Lucius would break him. And since he obviously couldn't use violence, he'd use humiliation. Until Cassianus learnt his place.  
He heard Cassianus open the bottle with the oil, and then smelled its faint, fine scent. Nothing like the plain oil they used in the army or the gladiatorial barracks. This was something a rich man would use, and Lucius was exactly that. A rich man who could afford the finest things in life. A rich man with no worries, now that he'd freed his brother.

"By the gods. Is that…" He heard an unknown, masculine voice near him, and half-opened his eyes. "Young  
Julius?"

He didn't recognise the man, although it was obvious from the way he carried himself and the small retinue around him that he was another well-born, rich young man with nothing to show off but his family name.

He turned his head around, and Cassianus was blushing fiercely, from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck, and probably even lower. Too bad the tunic hid the rest of his body. Lucius had seen him blush like that before, and he knew exactly how beautiful it was. Like seeing red wine poured inside a clear, pale cup of the finest glass.  
"I heard the rumours, but I could not believe it," the other man continued, and Cassianus blushed further. Lucius turned his head again, and glared at the man. "I know not who you are but," he started, sitting up. "But I know exactly who you are," the man smirked, drawing himself up, making him look taller. The bigger  
slaves around him assumed a threatening pose, while the dainty sycophants moved further back. He  
reached his hand towards Cassianus. "Come, let us talk."

"You have no right," Lucius told him, standing up and taking on the posture perfected at countless victories, showing his defeated opponents what years of fighting looked like. This new opponent, soft, well-born, could not defeat him, but the men around him could. Lucius only thought of that later, but it still didn't matter. "You cannot command another person's property."

"Please," Cassianus whispered. "Stop arguing."

Lucius ignored the soft words, but the man lowered his head a little, submitting to Cassianus. It was annoying.

"I cannot order another person's slave," the man said with another hateful smirk, "but I can order you, Lucius of a Hundred Victories. Your freedom means little to me, as you know."

Lucius bit his lips and thrust his chest forward. "Your words mean little to me, as you should know." Cassianus sighed.  
The man cast another look at Cassianus, and Lucius resisted turning around to see Cassianus' expression, if he was even redder than before, or maybe white-pale, like when his embarrassment changed to disbelief. It was enough to see that arrogant man bow his head again, eyes never leaving Cassianus'.

He motioned forward a dusky-skinned, lithe boy of maybe fourteen, and dressed in nothing but a loin-cloth. The garment, if it could be called that, was made of sheer silk, and it revealed, rather than hid, the boy's genitals. Dirty rich fucker, showing off his wealth. "In exchange for your…," he stopped, took a deep breath, "for young Julius' company, I give you use of my Narcissus. You may do as you wish with him," he smirked.

"I could do the same with my property."

The man glared at him. "If you ever dare touch Julius, I will find out and cut your hands off." "Please, Marcus. This is…"  
"Julius Cassianus, for the love of your brother, will you let me do as I please for once?" Marcus smiled like he was used to Cassianus' insufferable behaviour, and he never stopped being amused by it. "Come now, let us talk like we used to." He glared at Lucius one more time, challenging him to speak.

This time Lucius did look at Cassianus. He still looked embarrassed by everything, avoiding looking at anyone and anything. "What are you waiting for?" he grunted, and gestured for him to go follow Marcus and  
get out of his sight.

Cassianus nodded briefly, and then walked swiftly towards Marcus.

Lucius sat back down, not wanting to look at the way Marcus smiled at Cassianus, or the way Cassianus smiled back. How many lovers did the ungrateful little shit have?

"If only your brother was with us," was the last thing Lucius heard from Marcus, as the other man pulled  
Cassianus towards the other side of the room.

Narcissus pushed him down gently. "Please, let me please you, Master. You'll see. I'm better than that slave of yours."

Lucius snorted. That was probably the truth. But he still would have preferred Cassianus' hands on him. This time, when he lied down, the marble was cold and hard, and his muscles tense and sore. And no matter how warm and capable Narcissus' hands, they would never be as pleasant as Cassianus'. Well, as pleasant as  
he imagined them to be.

Next time, he'd go to one of the baths for the poor, where no rich family friends of his slave could ever humiliate Lucius.

But, even so, he had to admit that Narcissus was good at what he did. He hadn't felt that relaxed in ages. He even sighed happily as the boy rubbed his lower back.

"Now you will agree with me that this was a fair exchange?" Marcus laughed.

Lucius opened his eyes. He hadn't even heard him approach. He sat up, and then twisted so he could face him. "I would have preferred," he started.

"Your wishes are of no importance." Marcus glanced at Cassianus. "We both know this is the act of a madman, and I intend to do whatever is in my power to have this abuse of Claudianus' paternal power overturned in court. These days, only a thieving son or maybe someone who caused grievous harm could be forced to repay his crime in this manner. Julius had always been the most obedient of sons, and has never brought shame upon his family. But, until then," he said, glaring at Lucius, "you will treat him with the respect he is due. Antaeus and Amycus will make sure of that."

Antaeus and Amycus were as massive as the mythical heroes after which they had been named. The fact that both heroes had been defeated in wrestling and boxing matches, the first by Hercules, the second by Castor, offered no comfort. Just by looking at them, Lucius knew he was in the presence of professional fighters, men who were trained like soldiers, but sold their allegiance to their patrons. He looked at Cassianus, but the young man stared resolutely at the floor.

"I'd rather you'd given me a new cook," Lucius said, grinning. "Or someone to do the shopping."

Marcus raised his hand to strike him, and then put it down, glancing at Cassianus as if he was embarrassed to be seen so angry by the young man. "They are not for you."  
"No, they're for him, but he does nothing, and so, if they are for him, they should do what he ought to do." Marcus stared at him. Then he turned around, and marched away from him. Narcissus stared at Lucius,  
shrugged apologetically and ran after his master. Only Amycus and Antaeus stayed back, flanking  
Cassianus.

"In the name of all the gods," Lucius muttered angrily, standing up. He grabbed a towel and started wiping himself as he moved. The young man was more trouble than he was worth.

Only, as he hurried towards the exit, he glanced back, and even though Antaeus and Amycus were there to guard Cassianus, Lucius had the impression that they were threatening him. They were just so big and muscular, and Cassianus looked so fragile between them, even though he wasn't what you'd call 'a delicate boy'. His first urge was to protect the young man, and make him stop looking down so dejected.

He kept his eyes away from Cassianus as he dressed, and didn't say a word. But he knew what defeat felt like, and he could recognise it. He wouldn't treat Cassianus as his slave, not because of Marcus' threats, not  
because of those beasts behind him, but because he couldn't. Everything inside Lucius told him that  
Cassianus was so much better than him, in birth and rank and education.

The time for lies was over. He hated the rich, good-for-nothing lovers of Cassianus, because he could never compete with them. He could never be like them, could never lay claim on the young man’s affections. Because that’ all he wanted. To be Cassianus' friend, and talk to him as easily and freely as Marcus had. Have Cassianus rest his head on his chest, and look at him without fear, the way he looked at his lover.

Lucius couldn’t pretend he saw himself as the young man's master anymore. Having someone didn't mean that you really had them. How come he'd never realised that before?

**********

The way home felt much longer on the way back than it actually was. Lucius stopped at a couple of small shops to buy cheese and vegetables, but when he looked behind, hoping to get some help for carrying them back, Amycus and Antaeus glared at him. Cassianus was even further behind, studying some opened tablets advertising new books, completely engrossed in his study. It took him a moment to realise he’d get no help from any of them, and another one to figure out that Amycus and Antaeus had formed a wall protecting Cassianus from passersby. But Cassianus didn’t even notice, every bit the pampered aristocrat used to  
being surrounded by a retinue of guards and friends and sycophants.

Lucius carried everything himself, feeling wretched. He couldn’t even compete with two brutes when it came to doing something for Cassianus. In fact, he was probably worse than them, since he had been about to ask Cassianus to help him. When would he learn that he couldn’t do that anymore? He should stop expecting Cassianus to fit in with his life. He should give him back to his father, or let Marcus have him. Or maybe his spoilt, pretentious lover.

Hermione greeted him at the door. Then she looked at Antaeus and Amycus and only the fact that Lucius was there kept her from running away in fear. Lucius looked back. The two giants were glaring at him, his house, and even the poor girl, and Cassianus looked down, embarrassed and unable to stop them. He sighed. “Hermione,” he said softly, “these are Amycus and Antaeus,” and pointed at them as he said their names.

“I’m Antaeus,” said the one he’d called Amycus. “And this is Amycus.” He snorted. “Fighting has scrambled your mind and made you stupid and forgetful.”

Lucius ignored him. “They will be staying with us for a while,” he told her, wishing he could make her stop looking so startled and scared at the same time.

Antaeus snorted. “We will stay as long as we have to.” Amycus nodded.  
Cassianus sighed, and looked up apologetically for a second. Lucius couldn’t help noticing how he looked more relaxed now that the giants were with him, probably feeling secure that with such men guarding him, Lucius wouldn’t try anything again - or any other pervert. It made him feel even more miserable. Why had he listened to Gaius, and tried to force the young man? Antaeus was right; he was stupid.

Hermione suddenly took the food from his hands. “I’ll tell Phoenix we have people for dinner.”

“If you think we’ll only stay for dinner, you’re mistaken, girl,” Antaeus told her, grinning and winking at her. Hermione ran to the kitchen.  
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, turning towards Antaeus.

“Really?” Antaeus pushed him back. “Piss off,” he growled. “You’re not my Master.” “Please,” Cassianus sighed softly.  
Antaeus glared at the young man. “I know how slaves think.” Cassianus had nothing to say to that, except stare up pleadingly.  
Antaeus’ shoulders sagged, and his whole body drooped a moment later. “Master,” he whispered, begging for understanding.

Lucius slunk to his room, feeling like an intruder. He really ought to let Cassianus go. That was where Gaius found him. “Have you had dinner yet?”  
Lucius looked up. He hadn’t even been aware of the passing of time, let alone felt hungry. Nevertheless, the moment Gaius mentioned it, his stomach growled.

“I’ll be right back.”

Gaius was as good as his word. He came back moments later, balancing two bowls of dried fruit, one of cheese and bread, a wine jug and two cups. He sat down, put the food on the bed next to Lucius and sat on the floor, where he poured them some wine. He looked like he wanted to say something, but stayed quiet.

Lucius joined him down, moving the plates with him. He took a fruit. He bit it absentmindedly. "Oh," he said a moment later, lifting his hand up. "It's a fig."

Gaius rolled his eyes. "What did you expect?"

"I wanted a prune. Or an apricot." Gaius sighed, and pushed the bowl in front of him again. This time, Lucius took a prune. "This is so much better. Figs are tough, and chewy."

"Don't tell me. You want to talk about figs. And dried fruit. In general." "What do you think?"  
"I think you're avoiding the subject. And that is, what will you do with Cassianus?" Gaius took a deep breath. "Who are the two beasts that hover around him?”

Lucius bit viciously into the prune. “His guards.” He sighed.

“A slave with guards.” Gaius grinned. “If you’re scared of the two beasts, I have the solution for you: don’t touch him.” His grin widened. “It is a pity, though, after all I did.”

“What do you mean?” Lucius told him, hoping he wasn't blushing. “And I don’t want to touch him anyway.” Gaius snorted.  
"It’s the truth." "If you say so."  
Lucius threw the half-bitten fig on Gaius’ head. "I do." He sat up, and reached for the wine jug.

Gaius shrugged. “Still. I think you would have been happier if you’d fucked him. I tried to do you a favour,” he said, “but you…”

Lucius blinked. “You wanted me to rape him?”

Gaius grimaced. “I wanted you to seduce him. Bed him. Whatever. I wanted you to stop looking like…” “Stop it,” Lucius cut him off, not wanting to hear him.  
Gaius took a fig, stared at it and then threw it back in the bowl. "Then, why don't you free him?"

Lucius looked at Gaius. His brother's question was an honest one, and it deserved an honest answer. The answer he was trying to avoid for some hours. "Because, if I do, I'll lose him."

Gaius frowned. "But, Lucius, if you…"  
"He's different, you hear me?"

Gaius made a soft sound. "Lucius, you really are in love."

Lucius threw the prune he hadn't even bitten at Gaius’ head. "Don't be stupid. How can I be in love? Do I look like one of those idiots who wear perfume and wear their best clothes as they recite their own crappy poetry to the ones they try to woo? Or one of those who sit and complain about the cruelty of their lovers, because she's not with them all the time?"

"No," Gaius agreed. "But you do think of nothing else but him, and you refuse to treat him like a slave. You even stop your slaves from treating him like a slave."

"How can you say that? When you've known slavery yourself?"

Gaius shrugged. "Now that I'm free again, I see nothing wrong with behaving like a free man."

"And I see everything wrong with your attitude. We should treat our slaves with leniency, because this is the only way to make them obedient, and loyal."

Gaius nodded. "Yes, I read that too, yet you treat your slave like your equal, and not just…"

"I don't want a slave," Lucius cut him off. "I want a companion." Lucius stared into his cup. His reflection stared back at him. "But if I free him, he will go."

Gaius stood up with a sigh. "Lucius, you are in love. Free him. That way, when you seduce him, and he will be seduced, you'll know that he loves you, and wasn’t forced into…."

Lucius frowned. "Gaius? Are you drunk? What are you talking about? I'm not in love. And even if I were, I still wouldn't go about seducing him. He's an annoying prick."

"Then why do you want to keep him?"

“Because I can’t let him go back to his father. His father is a prick.” Gaius nodded. "Of course. That's all."  
"Gaius. Either say what you want to say plainly, or say nothing at all."

Gaius smiled. "I already said it. You are in love with him. But since you will not listen, I will not waste more words." He was out of the room in two steps.

"You arrogant prick," Lucius shouted, throwing his cup at Gaius’ direction. Hearing it shatter didn't give him any satisfaction.

Nor seeing Hermione peek from behind a wall.

"I'm fine. I just want to be alone for a while," he said, dismissing her. But without Gaius, what would he do in the house?

Lucius stood up. He'd go out too.

As was his habit, he stopped by Daphne’s shop the moment he was out. Daphne looked at him and immediately came to his side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She handed him a small barley cake that smelled deliciously of honey. “Now, now, tell Daphne what troubles you.” She took him by the hand and made him sit at a table.

“If you had more customers, you wouldn’t bother with me,” he told her.

She shrugged. “Maybe, but I have no customers now,” she said. “Talk to me, darling.”  
Lucius bit into the cake. What was there to say? Daphne sighed. “It’s money trouble, isn’t it?” “Eh?”  
“What? You think no one noticed when you brought those two…” She paused, frowning for a while. “Those giants, into your house?” He must have looked surprised, for she laughed. “Oh, Lucius, they’re really hard to miss. I swear, I can hear them when they walk.”

“You exaggerate.”

“I do,” she laughed again, “but they are giants. I thought only the emperor would have such men in his service.” She patted his hand. “They must cost a lot. Is that it? Why don’t you sell them?”

Lucius grinned. “They’re not mine to sell. They just,” he sighed, “keep an eye on some things.” Daphne was confused, but didn’t ask. Lucius could kiss her just for that. “So, it’s love trouble, then?” Lucius hated her. He really did. “It’s not.”  
She giggled. “It is. You have love problems.” She stood up, ran to the small kitchen area and came back with two more cakes and a jug of wine. “Tell me everything.”

“It’s not that. Why does everyone insist it’s love”? She shrugged. “Because,” she started, “you look…”  
Lucius suddenly stopped listening to her. Strange how his hearing was impaired the moment his eyes caught sight of Cassianus. And his two guard dogs, but it was Cassianus that he focused on. Where was he going? He sighed, when he realised that Cassianus hadn’t even seen him.

But Daphne definitely had, for she patted his hand and looked at him knowingly. “Are you sure?”

“Of what?” Cassianus hadn’t even seen him. “I should let him go,” he told her, “but if I do, he’ll go back to his father and his father is a cruel, cruel man. He has this friend, Marcus, and,” Lucius sighed again. “He’d be better off with him.”

She looked at him strangely.

“I don’t love him,” Lucius said, staring at her. “But he confuses me. I want us to be friends, but he’s so different.” He slumped on the table.

“Is he not your slave?”

Lucius glanced at her. She looked strange sideways. Kinder. “I was a slave too, and I don’t think that because I’m free now I can do whatever I want.” He sat up. “Slaves are not talking tools. Slaves are human too.”

She leaned towards him, her forehead almost touching his. “Are you a Christian?” she whispered. “They say free people and slaves are the same. Equal in front of god.”

He shook his head. “Epictetus said the same.” She frowned. “So, you’re a philosopher?”  
He snorted. “I’m just a man.” “You’re a better man than many.” Lucius shook his head.  
“He’ll see that, and appreciate it.”  
“You don’t understand.”

“Then, why don’t you explain it to me?”

Lucius took a sip of the wine. It was better than he expected. “It’s not that he’s a slave. It’s that…” He sighed, not knowing how to explain it.

“Daphne,” someone shouted from the street, “you’ve made your shop into a shrine for the love goddess? Can I sit by you, and rest my weary head upon your bosom?”

“Idiot,” she said, standing up. She glanced back at Lucius. “If this was a shrine to Venus, I would have healed this man’s aches.”

Lucius glared at her.

She patted his back, smiling gently for a moment. Then she turned a grin full of teeth to her customer. “And I  
would be charging you double for these cakes. Want one?” The man laughed.  
Lucius ignored them, and finished his wine. He just wanted to have a friend. Someone who wouldn’t act like an idiot all the time, and who wouldn’t mind when Lucius didn’t want to talk. Was that so bad?

&*&*

He woke up in a strange bed, someone warm snoring softly behind him. He touched the body next to his, and sighed in relief that it was a woman’s. She batted his hand away. In the faint light that came through the window shutters he recognised Daphne.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “Shut up,” she mumbled. “Fuck.”  
She pushed him away. “Get outta here.”

He stood up slowly. His head hurt. “What happened?”

Daphne snorted, and raised her head a little. “You drank. I listened. We fucked.” Her voice sounded hoarse, sleepy. “It’s okay, honey, don’t worry.” She yawned. “If your boyfriend gets angry, tell him I forced you.”

Lucius blinked. “What boyfriend?”

Daphne kicked him. “Go home.” She reached around for a tunic. “I have a shop to open.” She ran her hands through her hair, making it even more dishevelled.

“Give me a must cake first.”

She laughed. “You are shameless.”

But in the end she gave him a must cake and a left over loaf of honey bread, and sent him home. Where he went straight to his bed in the hope that sleep would cure his headache.

&*&*

The second time he woke up this morning the sun had well and truly risen. He got out of his room, said the shortest morning prayer to the household gods, and then listened. The house was quiet, and he couldn’t see anyone.

“Gaius?”  
There was no answer. “Hermione? Phoenix?” Nothing.  
"Cassianus?"

A few moments later Amycus appeared. "The Master is out," he said sternly, like Lucius had no right to either shout in general or ask for the young man in particular.

Lucius glared at him. "He's my slave. He can't be your master."

"My Master told me to treat Master Cassianus as my Master. Therefore, he is my Master." He glared back. "Fine. Where is your Master?"  
"Out." He grinned slowly, showing no respect to him whatsoever. "It is not my place to question my Master." "Good for you."  
Amycus laughed. Then he stepped forward, until he towered over Lucius. "And don't you forget that." He pushed Lucius to the ground, and then turned around, towards the exit.

Lucius stayed where he was. Great. Not only did he have an unwilling slave to deal with, but his two insolent guards as well.

And the worst part was that he didn’t know how he could convince Cassianus that he didn’t want him as a slave any more, but as a friend. How could he do that, if these two oafs ran around him, and didn't give Lucius a chance to talk to him alone?

His head hurt.

&*&*

Instead of going to the baths that morning, he stayed home and waited. When he saw Cassianus return, followed by Antaeus, he stopped carving, put down the unfinished image of Heracles that his father worshipped more than any other god, and stood up. "Cassianus," he said, trying to keep his voice level, "we need to talk."

Antaeus steepled his fingers and cracked his knuckles.

"Please," Cassianus told him, and Antaeus took a step back. "About what?" "What do you think?"  
"Is he bothering you, Master?"

Lucius jumped. He hadn't heard him move, and suddenly Amycus was behind him? Cassianus made the tiniest gesture and Amycus too stepped away from him.  
"My Master," Antaeus started, "Marcus, that is, will file a complaint against my Master's father." He grinned. "This Master," he clarified, pointing towards Cassianus. "He had no…"

Cassianus looked at Lucius. "It is written, that a third person can speak on behalf of a freeborn who's been unrightfully sold. Marcus has decided to contest my father's decision on my behalf."

Lucius nodded. "I understand." Marcus was a fool, then, wishing to go against the emperor's will.

"But it is also written that even an insane person has power over his children," Cassianus said with obvious distaste. "And my father only did what he was ordered. No one would think him insane."  
And no one would dare think the emperor insane. Freeing Cassianus would be the easiest thing, saving all the trouble of going through the various laws, bringing this case to the magistrates, and opposing the emperor himself. But…"It would be easier if I let you go, wouldn’t it?”

Cassianus sighed. "Would it?" He shivered. "No one spoke up for me at the family council, and my own father…." He bit his lips, and looked down, dejected. "Even the law states that no father would wish his son sold to slavery, and mine had always been…" He sighed again, blinked like he was suddenly aware of where he was, and hurried to his room.

Lucius sat down. "Don't," he told Antaeus when he took a step forward.

"Why?" Amycus was massive, and looked even more threatening when he leaned over Lucius. "Because he's a man, and no man wants to cry in front of others."  
Amycus frowned. Then he sat down next to Lucius. "I hate this." Antaeus followed suit.  
"Did you know him long?" Lucius said after a while. "Or are you so concerned because you're scared of your master?"

Amycus glared at him again. Someone must have told him he looked even more fearsome when he did that. Antaeus put his hand on Amycus' arm. "We knew him since he was this tall," he said, gesturing.  
Either Cassianus had had a very sudden growth spurt, or they'd known him since he was a child. Lucius smiled, trying to imagine the tall, slender youth as a small five-year-old.

"He would visit our Master with his brother, and when his brother was busy," Antaeus smirked, so many things implied in his smile, "he would read to us. Pretend he was a teacher, and we were his pupils."

Lucius grinned. Gaius did that too, read out his lessons and explain things to Lucius as well as to himself. "My brother did that too. I can't say I liked it."

"I liked it," Amycus said seriously. "He taught me to read, and write."

Antaeus nodded. "Back then, our Master thought we were nothing but beasts. His father had brought us from our homeland as trophies from his campaign." He grimaced, and spat on the ground. "People here called us stupid, and barbarians, because we couldn't speak Latin."

Lucius felt embarrassed. He too would have called them stupid once, and for the same reasons. But not anymore.

"But he didn't mind, and he was patient." Antaeus smiled a little. "Not many children are. Especially not these soft creatures, born and bred in luxury."

Lucius smiled. They talked to him like an equal and, even though he should have been insulted that they treated him like a fellow-slave, he didn't care.

"He would do this," Antaeus continued, clasping his hand below the wrist, "and guide my fingers until I wrote the letters properly. And when I did, he'd say, 'well-done, Godomar'."

Amycus nodded. "If you hurt him, I'll kill you." He stood up, and moved towards the back of the house. Antaeus followed him, casting a warning glance at Lucius.  
Lucius stayed where he was. It was strange how clearly he could suddenly picture the scene Antaeus had sketched with his words. Two hulking, silent giants they must have looked, with wild, blond hair and washed- out blue eyes full of anger, missing a homeland they would never see again. And Cassianus would have been no taller than Antaeus’ thigh, perhaps even shorter, standing between them, teaching them with an earnest, calm expression, and rewarding them with smiles.  
That sweet-natured child had grown into a sweet-natured young man. Lucius knew what he should do. But it was so difficult to do it. He sighed, laid down, and left the decision-making for later.

&*&*

By the time the sun had set, he hadn't reached a decision, but he knew that he couldn't avoid talking to Cassianus any longer. He got out of his room, and went to the young man's, not surprised when he saw Amycus sitting on the narrow corridor outside.

Amycus glared at him. "You can't go in."

Lucius studied him. He looked folded in two. "You'll sleep here tonight?" "It's no hardship."  
Lucius smirked. Somehow, he couldn't believe him. He stepped over Amycus and knocked on the door a couple of times before opening it.

Cassianus was sitting on the edge of his bed staring at Antaeus, while Antaeus was on the floor, glaring stubbornly back. Lucius looked at them both, at the small, empty space that they filled so completely and made a decision. "You can't sleep here," he told them.

Cassianus turned his head and looked at him curiously.

Antaeus stood up, crowding Lucius, but Lucius stood his ground. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Fine. Then stay here. Cassianus," he said, facing the young man, "you'll sleep with me."  
Antaeus raised his fist to punch him in the face, and Lucius blocked him. It took him both hands, and gave Antaeus an opening to punch him in the stomach with his other hand. Lucius started falling to his knees, but Antaeus grabbed him by the tunic's collar, raised him up, and punched him again. His stomach rolled with the pain, and the food he'd had rose up, bitter and acidic, burning his throat.

"Stop it."

Lucius smiled. Cassianus was speaking up for him. He let Antaeus hit him again. "Antaeus, stop."  
Antaeus didn't. His fist smashed Lucius' jaw this time, and Lucius raised his hands, not to strike, but to defend.

"Godomar," Cassianus shouted. "Enough."

Antaeus stopped, and the moment he left Lucius, Lucius collapsed on the floor. He leaned his head against the wall. For the pain, there was nothing he could do, but for the dizziness that threatened to overtake him, perhaps this would help.

"Godomar," Cassianus said, softly this time, disapproving.

Lucius blinked up at him, and saw Cassianus kneel by his side, reaching towards him, but not daring to touch his injuries. A story from his childhood came to mind. He smiled. "My merciful angel."

The moment Cassianus touched him, the darkness swallowed Lucius. But those blue eyes, shining down with concern? Lucius wouldn’t mind being beaten again if that was the result.

&*&*

Lucius woke up in his bed, feeling beaten, aching all over, skin torn and stretched and sensitive. For a moment he didn’t remember what happened, but then he did, and he thought the pain was a fair price for seeing Cassianus care for him. He looked up, and then around, and found Cassianus.

"I'm sorry."  
Lucius smiled a little, but his mouth was bruised and cut. The movement hurt. Even though it was Marcus' slave that had beat him, Cassianus should have stopped him. "I ought to punish you," he said, knowing that the law was on his side.

Cassianus frowned, but stayed silent, as if accepting whatever Lucius decided. Just for that, Lucius would never, ever punish him. "I'm sorry," Lucius told him. "Why?"  
"For trying to treat you like a slave." He had expected the admission to hurt, but perhaps because his whole body was aching, it felt soothing to say this. "You're no more a slave than…" he couldn't find a good example, and so he shrugged. His mouth filled with the taste of blood.

Cassianus blushed for two heartbeats. Then he pressed a wet cloth on the side of Lucius’ mouth, carefully dabbing the blood away. A thin trickle of water slid past his lips and it tasted clean, and fresh. "You shouldn't talk."

"Or?" He smirked. "Antaeus will beat me again?" "I'm sorry."  
Lucius grinned, and even though his lip hurt, he couldn't stop himself. "He acts like you're his baby brother or something. I like him."

"He's a good man."

"I bet." Lucius pushed the cloth aside, and sat up. "I meant it. I'm sorry." "You should rest. If you must speak, then speak tomorrow."  
Lucius grinned again. "I must not speak, but we need to talk." He looked at Cassianus seriously. "I don't know what to do. If your friend Marcus speaks up on your behalf, he could make the emperor angry."

Cassianus sat on the edge of the bed, nodding. "I know."

"If I free you," and Lucius' chest ached at the hope that flared for a moment in Cassianus' eyes, "I don't know what will happen. I don't want to go against the emperor."

"I understand."

"I think I should wait, until Commodus forgets about this, or decides that as far as jokes go, this was a bad one, and it's gone long enough."

"I understand." Cassianus wouldn't look at him and he sounded resigned.

Lucius couldn't help but reach out and take Cassianus' hand into his own. Cassianus stared at him,  
surprised, and with fear in his eyes for a moment. But then he pushed the fear back, and waited for Lucius to speak. "I will free you legally, as soon as I can. Let you go back to your father," he promised. "But until then, can we just…"

"Pretend?" Cassianus said bitterly, for some reason Lucius couldn’t understand.

"Act like we are…" Luciuss sighed. He couldn’t demand Cassianus' friendship; he had to earn it. "We live in the same house," he said, feeling helpless. "There should be no strife between us."

Cassianus winced, and then looked away.

He seemed ashamed, though Lucius couldn't understand that either. It was Lucius who was ashamed. Lucius who had accepted a freeborn man as his slave for no other reason than the emperor's will. Lucius who had been a coward. "I don't know how to make this situation tolerable for you."  
"You shouldn’t. I am yours now," Cassianus said, but he still wouldn't look at him.

"You're not my slave, though. No matter what the lawyers and the witnesses say. I shouldn't have tried to make you one."

"If I had been captured at war, it would have been your right."

Lucius sighed, and fell back on the bed. His head had begun hurting again. "If that had happened, it would have been as you say, but it didn't." He closed his eyes. "I can't argue right now. That will have to wait until tomorrow," he said, smiling a little. "But you can't sleep in your room," he added, suddenly remembering what had brought him there.

"Why?" He sounded testy.

Lucius smiled again. "That room is too small." He felt ashamed again, for that was all he had to offer, a tiny room with a straw mattress. He waved around. "There's plenty of room for three here. It's bad that your friends have to sleep on the floor, but to have them sleep outside your room, on the corridor? Even dogs have houses."

Cassianus sighed. "I offered them my bed. They threatened to beat me if I suggested it again. Then they cast a dice, to see who would sleep in the room, and who outside."

"That's stupid," Lucius mumbled, fighting with sleep for words. "Sleep here," he said, patting his bed. "It's big enough."

"You said you would take me," Cassianus whispered, and his voice was full of shame and fear.

Lucius snorted. "I can't open my eyes right now, let alone raise my hand to touch you. You're safe with me." "Tonight, maybe. Tomorrow?"  
"Do you think me so stupid as to try to do anything against you?" Lucius sat up and looked at him, even though the action took some effort. "Not because of your guard dogs, but because of who you are, son of the illustrious senator Claudianus. I had forgotten that, and I…"

Cassianus sighed, and pressed Lucius gently down on the mattress. "You should sleep now."  
"I'm sorry," he said again, helpless. This time, when he closed his eyes, he couldn’t fight sleep any longer. But when he woke up, he found Cassianus lying down beside him. As far away from him as possible, and  
wrapped in his himation instead of a blanket, but still, on the same bed. He grinned, and even the way Amycus stared at him suspiciously couldn't make him stop. He closed his eyes, and went back to sleep, still smiling.

**********

This time, when he woke up, he found Cassianus still there, but sitting up on the edge of his bed, studying him. He blinked, but the young man stayed where he was. So, he really was there, and not a dream. He smiled. He winced. He smiled again.

“This looks painful,” Cassianus told him. “It is.”  
Cassianus kept studying him. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted moments later. “I’ve had worse. Don’t worry.”  
For some reason that seemed to make Cassianus sad, looking away from him. But then he took a deep breath and stared at him. “Can I go out today?”

Lucius sighed. “You don’t have to ask,” he said, even though he wanted to ask where Cassianus wanted to go. “For permission,” he explained when Cassianus frowned a little. “Not anymore.” He smiled. “Just let me  
know if you decide to go live with your friend.” If that made him sound pathetic, he didn’t care. Cassianus tilted his head a little, still confused. “But, you wanted to own me. You asked Caesar…”  
He glanced at Antaeus, who was pretending not to listen. At Amycus, who was staring down. “Who told you that? It was all Commodus’ idea. I only wanted to be free. And free my brother. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“But Father had said that…”

“Well, your Father lied. Sorry, kid,” he said a little more softly. “Your Father probably didn’t want to tell you how afraid he was of the emperor.”

Cassianus nodded. “I can believe that.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re free. I’m sorry for the way I treated you before.” He took a deep breath. “If you want to stay with your friend, I… it’s not my place to tell you what you should do. But I can’t offer you anything. I’m not a rich man. This is not even my house. I rented it from some old man who may have cheated me off my money, as Gaius fears. Maybe in a month from now the real owners will show up, and I’ll be left looking for a place to stay again.”

“You think riches matter that much to me?” “Eh?”  
“I’m sorry I was so arrogant,” Cassianus told him earnestly. “I had forgotten my place. If I’m here, it’s because of God’s will, and so I must do what He asks of me. I’ll stay here.” He frowned. “If you want.”

Lucius blinked. “I just said you are free to go wherever you want.” “And I just said that I’ll stay where God put me.”  
Antaeus groaned.

“You can go back to Marcus,” Cassianus told him imperiously. “I’m staying here.”

Lucius couldn’t believe what he was hearing, even as he suspected that maybe Cassianus wasn’t exactly sane. “You are a follower or Epictetus, right?”

Cassianus smiled a little, turning his attention back to him.

“Epictetus himself would choose freedom and pleasure over slavery and pain.”

“But you said that as far as you’re concerned, I’m free. And last night,” he lowered his voice and stared intensely at him, “you promised you wouldn’t hurt me again. Did you lie?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then, I’m already in a state of freedom and pleasure. Aren’t these the prerequisites for a life without vice?” Cassianus smiled at him again, and this time, his smile was the one he remembered, brilliant and soft and joyful. “That’s all I need.” He jumped off the bed, rousing Antaeus and Amycus with a gesture. “I’ll try to be less of a burden to you, but for now, I must go.”

Lucius fell back on his bed. Perhaps the young man was insane, not his father, nor the emperor. Had Cassianus really promised to stay with him, on his own free will? He started to laugh. He still owed Fortune an altar, didn’t he? What more could he give her?

Perhaps he should give whatever he owed to her soon, before she took her favour from him.

&*&*

He had to drag Gaius out of the house immediately after that, thanking Fortune one more time that his brother was already up. Even though Livia’s Portico was mostly frequented by women of all ages, it was the closest place they could go and walk and hide their words in the voices of the crowd or the murmur of water  
from the fountains at the four corners of the space enclosed by the four porticos. And even though the altar in the middle of the courtyard was dedicated to Concord of the marital kind, Lucius felt that it should also apply to all kinds of relationships between members of the same household. So, he dragged Gaius there, and walking along the four stoas, told him what happened, from falling on a wall, to Cassianus leaving that morning.

After Gaius heard everything, he sat down on the steps of one of the four porticos and burst out laughing. “You two idiots deserve each other,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He wiped his eyes. “But there’s something I don’t like.” “What?”  
“All his talk about a ‘life free of vice’.” Gaius frowned. “Are you sure you want to pursue a philosopher?”

“He’s not a philosopher. He’s just a young man who likes big ideas.” He ruffled Gaius’ hair, grinning. “Much like you.”

“Every philosopher was a young man once,” Gaius insisted. “What if you got yourself a Socrates?” He snorted, and then started laughing again. “I can see it all clearly. You’ll be Alcibiades, besotted and in love.”

“I’m not in love. Or besotted,” he cut Gaius off.

Gaius glared at him. “Don’t interrupt. So, you’ll be coming to his bed, and he’ll sleep beside you like a baby, never tempted and never curious. Poor Lucius.”

“It won’t be like that.” “Really?”  
“I don’t want him to… I’m not…”

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound convincing.” “Fuck you.”  
“Always a good argument,” Gaius laughed. “So, where did your philosopher go?” “I have no idea.”  
“You’re not curious?”

Lucius sighed. “I don’t want to be curious.” “Lucius?”  
“He has a lover. A rich, spoilt lover who likes philosophy. I bet he went there.” Gaius stood up. “Then, you must rescue him.”  
“What?”

“What if his lover is a member of the wrong school? What if he’s,” Gaius pretended to be horrified, “an  
Epicurean? Or a Skeptic?”

Lucius grinned. “You’re being foolish.” Gaius grabbed Lucius’ wrist. “Let’s go.” “Where?”  
“To his lover’s. Where else?”

Even though he thought his brother an idiot, Lucius still followed him out. The worst that could happen was that he’d see Cassianus exchange yet another kiss, a kiss that hopefully would cure Lucius from his stupid desire.

&*&*

Since they couldn’t knock on the door of the house and ask for explanations, they had to find a place to wait outside. It was as if he’d given permission to Gaius to talk incessantly. First it was the story of a rich, young man called Arcesilaus. He had four half-brothers, and was so gifted in everything, his family was divided.  
One brother wanted him to become an orator, but the other wanted him to become a philosopher. In the end, he ran away to Athens, or maybe he went there, and chose philosophy. But because he must have liked arguments more than the systematic study of plants, he changed schools while still young, and so on, and so forth. Lucius stopped listening after that, but it didn’t stop Gaius from talking.

When he finished a long discussion on the senses and perceptions, Gaius continued with the story of Carneades, and how he moved from Cyrene to Athens in pursuit of philosophy. He thought that the senses were inadequate for understanding not only the world, but also truth. Gaius kept repeating big words, and Lucius wondered if this was all a ploy of his brother’s to guide him away from philosophical young men in general, and one young man in particular.

But what Lucius got out of that was that if the impossible happened, and he managed to seduce Cassianus away from his rich lover, then they’d have to go to Athens, where Cassianus could pursue his studies and Lucius could go to the temples and see the art works. Gaius was the one who liked words, and remembered them clearly, but Lucius preferred images and statues. Show him something once, and he never forgot it. And everyone said that Greece was still full of art, even though a lot of the masterpieces were now in Rome.

Lucius suddenly saw someone come out of the lover’s house. It wasn’t Cassianus though, it was an old man wearing a clean, but patched tunic. A slave, probably. In his hands he held a piece of cloth, and a wrapped parcel.

Gaius stopped talking about the Academy, and focused on the door. “He’s probably a slave,” he said. “I know.”  
Gaius shrugged.

Then another person came out, this time a young man. He was followed by a woman with two children, one in her arms, and one slightly older, trailing behind her. Their clothes were better than the old man’s, but their simplicity made Lucius think that they were either slaves or just freed, and not freeborn.

“This is interesting,” Gaius muttered.

They counted perhaps fourty people going out of the house, some young, some old, men and women alone or with children. Lucius suspected that most of them were slaves, but he saw a couple of knights, one of them with his whole family.

“They were having an orgy,” Gaius snickered. “That’s why they all look so happy.”

Lucius glared at him. Cassianus was the last to leave, and he was the only one to be escorted out by his rich lover. When the lover kissed him, Lucius felt anger again, and not the relief he was hoping for. “Will you shut up?”

“Me? I wasn’t saying anything.”

“Now.” He shook his head. “But before? Do you really think they were having an orgy?” Gaius didn’t answer him. He looked behind Lucius’ back, shaking his head a little.  
“It’s too early for an orgy, isn’t it?” Antaeus said reasonably behind him, and Lucius jumped up, startled. Cassianus was frowning behind Antaeus, asking without words.  
“He was following you, Master,” Antaeus said. “I wasn’t.”  
Antaeus snorted. “Tell them, Gaius.”  
“We were just taking a walk.”

“And you stopped here long enough to eat a handful of dates and peaches? And bread too?” Antaeus pointed at the crumbs and pits they had thrown down on the ground after finishing with the fruit. He kicked the larger seeds with his foot. “You were here for a while.”

“But why?” Cassianus asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Antaeus answered. “He wanted to know where you were.” “Why not ask?”  
Amycus and Gaius snorted at the same time. Lucius glared at his brother. Little traitor. “Erm….” Antaeus cracked his knuckles.  
“Enough with the violence, Godomar. Even now you would threaten someone? Did you hear nothing?” Antaeus sighed, frustrated. He glared at Cassianus. “I heard a lot.”  
“Then?”

“But I also know how men think.”

“Are you saying I’m not a man?” Cassianus stuck his chin out defiantly, and raised his head so he could glare better. He still looked tiny next to Antaeus, but it was Antaeus who moved back. “Well?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying,” he started and then stopped, shrugging helplessly.

“Good. Curiosity is a dangerous councillor, and it can lead to peril,” Cassianus told Antaeus. “Isn’t it our duty to prevent something evil from happening?”

“He’s a philosopher, brother. Are you sure about this?” Gaius whispered in his ear, grinning. “He will lead you down a life of impossible virtue.”  
“Shut up,” he grumbled. He preferred Cassianus the philosopher, from Casianus the angry, silent young man. Cassianus turned towards him. “I do not understand why you were following me, but if you are curious, then I  
will introduce you. But,” he stared at him seriously, “my sister is a woman of great virtue. She does not tolerate evil either in deeds or words. You will mind your language in her presence,” he ordered him.

Lucius nodded, and tried not to grin. So much for Cassianus being sorry for his arrogance. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

Cassianus walked back to the house. He knocked and a slave opened the door. Another slave ran towards the house, grinning.

They were still moving in the vestibule, Lucius a little distracted by the green and white veined marble on the walls, when he heard a woman call out.

“Juli? Have you changed your mind about the clothes?” She stopped when she saw them, and pulled her veil closer to her face. “Oh. Pylades didn’t mention you had guests.” She studied them, and Lucius felt that she could see right through him. “What are you waiting for? Come in.”  
She smiled at them all, but took Cassianus’ arm and then gave him a small kiss on the lips. “I don’t know what made you change your mind, but I’m glad you did,” she said. “We were about to have dinner,” she told Lucius. “You will join us, I hope.”

“Of course,” Gaius answered on his behalf.

Lucius wished he could kick him. They belonged there as much as they belonged to the palace. But he was still a little curious. So, that was Cassianus’ sister. She looked like him. She was shorter, of course, and utterly feminine in her form and beauty, by they had the same dark hair, the same pale skin, and the same  
eyes, both in shape and colour. No one could ever mistake them for anything else but siblings as they leaned close, both smiling at each other.

She led them into a wide courtyard with pale blue columns, yellow walls, and a garden that was brilliantly green with all sorts of plants surrounding a fountain clad in pale pink marble. “Juli,” she pinched her brother, “Where are your manners? I’m Julia, and this,” she said pointing at the rich, young man who came out, “is my husband, Anicius.”

He smiled at them politely, and then kissed first his wife and then Cassianus. This time, Lucius felt no anger, except perhaps at himself for his stupidity. How could he have mistaken a kiss between relatives for that of lovers? There was nothing passionate about it, just the simple joy of being with one’s close kin.

Anicius grinned, squeezing himself between the siblings and hugging them both. “Lady. Brother. You brought us guests, but you will not introduce them?”

Cassianus blushed. “This is the man Father sold me to,” he started.

Lucius wished the earth would open up and swallow him. “I’m Lucius,” he said, “and this is my brother  
Gaius.”

Julia paled. She managed a small ‘oh’ of surprise, and had to hold on to her husband for a moment. But then she recovered. “All are welcome in our house,” she said, smiling at them like they were family friends. Truly,  
a lady of great virtue and moral character.

Why didn’t the earth open up and swallow him already?

**********

Since the weather was still warm, the dinner was to be at the summer dining room. It was an elegant room, with pale yellow and green marble on the walls, and a large mosaic depicting Orpheus calming the beasts with the song of his lyre on the floor. Instead of portraits of gods or seasons or something equally appropriate, the borders of the mosaic were decorated with vines, heavy with fruit and shiny leaves.

The tables were already set and their hosts’ guests were waiting for them, an older man dressed like a philosopher, and a couple. The woman was Julia’s age, and the man slightly older, and they both were dressed in expensive clothes.

Julia frowned, studying the tables, and Lucius bit back a sigh. He glared at Gaius, but his brother shrugged. What care did he have? But he could understand the problem their presence posed. Who would sit where? Even if Cassianus was not to be the guest of honour, as both Julia and Anicius probably would have preferred, even if one of the two men who were already there was the guest of honour, then surely Julia would have liked her brother to take the next best seat. And if they could pretend that Cassianus still had all the rights and privileges of a freeborn citizen among friends and relatives, how could they do that with Lucius present? Slaves had no place at the table, except to serve.

And there was no way Lucius would accept to take the place that Julia would have given to her brother, nor would he allow Cassianus to stand and watch while they dined. He glanced at Julia and caught her glancing at him. He sighed, and looked away from her. His only consolation was that Amycus and Antaeus hadn’t been invited to dinner, and had been left with the servants.

“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” Julia suddenly said, her tone joyous. “One would think the summer was not over.” “Meaning?” Anicius sounded concerned.  
“Let’s sit out. Faith. Grace.”

Two beautiful young women, one dark-haired and dark-skinned, the other pale and blonde, moved forward as one.

“Bring out cushions and rugs, the soft ones from Egypt, and fetch everything else. We will dine in the garden tonight.”

Lucius stared up at her. She smiled.

“My Lady has the most marvellous ideas,” Anicius said, hugging her once. Then he moved away. “This is Rhodon,” he said, introducing the older man, “and this is Callistion and his wife Prisca. This is Lucius, with his brother Gaius. Our Brother stays with them.”

Rhodon nodded knowingly, while Prisca seemed to study him with even greater curiosity. “You were a gladiator, weren’t you?”

He shrugged, wondering if she would ask him how it had felt to kill a man. So many others had, with a gleam in their eyes and their hands shaking with desire.

“I never went to the amphitheatre,” she continued, grimacing. “I think it’s disgusting that people like you become famous for killing.”

“We only become famous because of the people who come see us in the arena,” Gaius said reasonably. “But you still prefer to kill than be killed,” she said.  
“Isn’t that what any sane person would do?”

Julia cleared her throat. “This discussion is not suitable for dinner.” She smiled again. “I’m glad we don’t have any meat tonight. I could not tolerate its taste after your words.”

“You have no meat?” Lucius asked, despite himself.

“We have something better. Red mullet,” Anicius said. “And lobster, and turbot.” Cassianus made a small, happy sound.  
“Fish has a more delicate flavour, and it’s more suited to the season, especially when the weather is so warm,” Julia added. “I always thought meat is best in spring.”

“Not winter?” Lucius asked again.

Julia smiled a little. “Winter is a time of renewal and contemplation.” “One should fast during winter,” Anicius said.  
Lucius nodded. So, Cassianus was a Stoic, but his sister belonged to a sect like that of the Pythagoreans, eating specific foods on specific seasons? He didn’t understand, but he followed Julia and her husband to the garden, where the slaves had already set down rugs and cushions on the ground, and placed lamps on portable bronze stands. The way everything had been arranged, in a circle broken in two by two narrow openings for the slaves to move and bring the food, no one could have a place of honour.

“Let us sit,” Julia said and she grabbed Cassianus by the arm. “You’re staying with me, little brother.” She sat down and a slave moved forward, ready to remove her sandals while another brought a silver basin for her to wash her hands. Then a third brought another basin, this one for washing her feet.

Before Lucius could smirk about the host’s privileges, three handsome young men stood before him. The first one bent down, and started removing Lucius’ sandals deftly. When his feet and hands were washed - with rose-scented water at that - another slave came to wipe him. And each of the guests had four slaves at his service just for that.

This was the world Cassianus had been forced to leave. The world Cassianus stubbornly refused to go back  
to, and he really wished he didn’t feel this stupid surge of joy. What could he offer him that could compare to this luxury? Well, if Cassianus wanted to go back to it, Lucius wouldn’t stop him. But if he wanted to stay with him, he wouldn’t dissuade him either.

He looked around him. In the first semi-circle, Julia sat next to Cassianus and her husband sat next to Rhodon. Gaius was at the top of the second semi-circle, and Lucius sat between Prisca and her husband. The way they were arranged, he was sitting facing Cassianus, and he couldn’t help wondering if Julia had done that on purpose. She kept glancing at him, after all, even though she kept whispering to her brother.

The slaves started bringing the first course, small salted fish and fish cakes served with the simplest of dressings. Lucius reached for one of them the moment the plates were put down, but took his hand back immediately when he realised he was the only one doing that. He looked down, embarrassed, but a moment later he glanced up. Had Cassianus noticed?

He couldn’t tell, for Cassianus was whispering something to Julia, but she had, and she seemed to be frowning to her husband.

“I’m hungry,” Anicius suddenly said, clearly obeying her. He made a vague gesture, which might have been an apology to his guests. Then he smiled, and Lucius was surprised to see how everyone stopped chattering, and stood still, Julia closing her eyes and holding her hands together, and Cassianus looking down. Prisca too looked down, and her husband, and Rhodon had his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

He frowned, and raised his hand in a small questioning gesture. Gaius shrugged, and made a face. How should I know?

“We thank you, Our Father, for the life you have given us through Your Son, and the knowledge You revealed to us. For all these things we thank You, and praise Your name forever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Lucius blinked. They were Galileans? Cassianus looked up and stared at him, daring him to speak. “I’m hungry,” he said instead.

Julia smiled approvingly.

Galileans? He knew so little about them, but knew that they were secretive and hiding, too busy fucking in the dark and spreading their lies to children to even worship the emperor. And there they were, shameless and unafraid, praying to their god instead of doing what was proper and…

“Want some?” Cassianus asked him, pushing the dish with the fishcakes towards him. Before Lucius could answer, he had already grabbed one with his free hand and had bitten into it. “It’s good,” he said earnestly. “Mmm, prawns and lobster, right?”

Julia smacked him. “You have no manners at all.” Then she smiled. “What else?” She reached for a fishcake herself.

Lucius took one, and tried it. It was good. It was better than good. It was so good, Lucius decided not to care that he was eating in a house of fools. Galileans.

He glanced at Gaius, and his brother shrugged a little. The food is good, he seemed to say.

Some days, that was enough. Though, as the dinner progressed, Lucius wondered if he had become like those parasitic sycophants who did nothing but hang around the baths all day looking for an invitation to dinner, and once they had it, did everything to please their hosts. Granted, he didn’t take part in the discussion, though he was surprised at how interested Gaius looked, but even listening to them had to be a kind of pandering to his hosts.

Rhodon was moaning about how slowly his work was going. “I’ll never finish my book,” he kept saying every now and then. “As if having to deal with my old teacher’s Problems is not enough, I have to fight with the students of Marcion too. Even though that Pontic wolf is dead, his spirit still haunts this valley blessed by the sacred vine of David.”  
“But, when you say that, do you mean that his spirit is stronger in death than it was in life?” Callistion snorted. “Tatian says that man, already feeble in life, cannot acquire greater power as a corpse.”

Rhodon sighed. “It was a simile.”

“You did say that ‘his spirit haunts this valley’,” Cassianus said. “If it were truly a simile, you should have introduced another part which would show like what it haunts this space. When you say, ‘even though he is dead, his spirit haunts this valley,’ you say that even in death he is alive, and so you should explain in which ways he is lifelike in death.”

Julia frowned. “Do not listen to my brother. He knows what you mean.”

“I do. I only wonder, if these demons can lay command on men’s souls, as he says, and the body is feeble, and weak, and the flesh brings nothing but corruption, then what was the meaning of his ascetic practice?” Cassianus shook his head. “I do not understand.”

Rhodon sighed again. “Not every soul is corrupted by demons. And every soul still remembers that it contains the image of God. By living righteously, the soul regains the divine spirit it had lost as it Fell, and so can be saved.”

“But he claimed that a physical bond between man and wife leads to corruption,” Julia said. “He did.”  
“But shouldn’t things that belong to the soul, like its salvation, be separate from the things that belong to the body, like the physical intimacy between a man and his wife?” Julia asked, blushing a little.

Cassianus nodded. “When the Lord said, ‘give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God, what is God’s,’ and we do that, then doesn’t it also mean that we should give the flesh its due, and to the soul what pertains to the soul?”

Anicius grinned. “Tatian is a heretic. Please, forgive my Lady and my Brother. They are fascinated by words more than what is good for them.”

Rhodon smiled indulgently. “We need men, and women, like that. Faith alone will not sustain the Church.” He nodded towards the siblings. “As long as you remember to keep in your heart what the Lord taught, and not be seduced by the brightness of false ideas. Have I told you about Apelles and what he said?”

Lucius looked up. The sky was full of stars, and he traced the shape of constellations with his eyes. Would they talk all night about heretics?

Galileans.

&*&*

In the end, Rhodon had to beg them to let him go. “I’m an old man,” he said. “I need to sleep.”

Anicius escorted him, Callistion and Prisca out. Apparently, the old man was staying with them for a few days, something about using Callistion’s library in peace.

Julia held Lucius back. “Juli,” she said to her brother, “you should go get Antaeus and Amycus, or else.” She grinned. “I know you’re fond of them,” and something in her manner made Lucius think that she could have been speaking of dogs or horses, “but I’m not.”

Cassianus glared at her, but did as he was told.

“Why don’t you go with him?” Julia told Gaius. “There’s plenty of food left, and your brother seemed to like it. Tell Castor it’s my wish.” The moment he was away, Julia grabbed Lucius’ hand. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

“What?” “Wait here.”  
Lucius was surprised that she did not send one of her maids but instead, ran herself back to her apartments. She came back quickly, carrying a big, wrapped parcel in her hands. “Take this?” she asked him.

“What is it?”

“Clothes.” She sighed, and looked twice as lovely in her sadness. But then she looked at him fiercely. “I will not stand the sight of my brother going around like the most wretched of slaves.”

He nodded. “I will do as you wish, Lady.”

Something in his expression must have convinced her that he was telling the truth, for she smiled a little. But then she was overtaken by her sadness again. “He has been wearing the same clothes for two weeks now, and he’s too proud to accept anything from me except what’s necessary.” She glared at him. “According to the law, you should provide for him.”

Lucius looked away, ashamed.

Julia touched his wrist again. “If you can’t,” she said softly, “then come to me. I will provide you with everything. Money, food, clothes.” She sighed. “If only Father would talk to me. As for my husband? He won’t let me go to Caesar, and ask for his clemency.” She stared, and her gaze was as intense and serious as that of her brother. “Please, let me ease my brother’s punishment.”

“I said, I’ll do as you wish. What more do you want?” If he sounded a little rougher than usual, so what?

She looked like she would say something, something grateful, if he judged her expression correctly, but then Gaius appeared, carrying a big basket in his hands. Cassianus was behind him, and so were his guards. She handed him the clothes, and then left him alone, choosing to talk to her brother.

Gaius fell into step beside him. “I bet she wanted to give the food to your philosopher,” he whispered as a slave guided them, using a lantern to light their way home. “Castor made sure all his favourite dishes were included.”

“You have a problem with that?”

“Me?” Gaius laughed. “Far from it.” He stopped laughing, and sighed softly. “You did the same when we were little,” he said in a gentle voice. “Remember? You’d wrap my favourite foods in the bag with my tablets and stylus and I’d always have something to eat at school. I’d reach inside, and wonder, what did Lucius put this time?”

Lucius felt his cheeks redden. Of course he did that; Gaius was his younger brother. But he didn’t like being reminded that he had acted like Mother. “You’re such a…”

“What?”

“You’re like a girl, thinking useless thoughts.”

Gaius laughed. “I’m not the one who made sure I was fed. I won’t say more, if that’s what you want.” “It is.”  
“Remember how…” Gaius started a few moments later.

If Lucius wasn’t mindful of the slave ahead, and the fact that Gaius was carrying a basket full of food, he’d kick Gaius. Instead, he tried not to listen as his brother kept saying how touched he had been that Lucius knew all his favourite foods. Or how he wanted to bet that Lucius would learn what ‘the philosopher’ liked even more quickly.

When they finally got home, and Gaius went to his room, still laughing, Lucius asked Cassianus if he would sleep in his bed. When Cassianus agreed, he decided to forgive Gaius. He even decided that he wouldn’t care about how impious the young man was, and that he’d find out more about his beliefs. That was his duty, not as a loyal subject to the emperor, but as a man who wanted a friend. One should test his friends and find out about them, shouldn’t he?  
And he could see that the lady Julia was right; Cassianus slept in the same clothes that he wore during the day. He really had been remiss in his duties, no matter what Gaius thought. He should have noticed that, and done something about it. Though, he did wonder. Why didn’t Cassianus stink? Or his tunic, for that matter? Had he taken a bath at his sister’s? But he didn’t smell of sweet olive oil, or any fragrant perfume. He just smelled of sweat, a clean, just slightly spiced sweat. What kind of a miracle was that?

If he wasn’t so aware of Cassianus’ need for space, if he wasn’t so determined to keep his promise not to touch the young man, Lucius would have closed the distance between them and sniffed him from head to toes. Just like a dog.

“My sister likes you,” Cassianus said quietly, and Lucius had trouble hearing him over Amycus’ snores. “She’s…”  
“She’s stubborn and likes to get things done her way.”

Lucius bit back a snort. She sounded exactly like someone else he’d just started to know. “She’s very clever. She might trick you,” he then said.  
“Trick me into what?”

“Into accepting her charity.” “Maybe I don’t mind that.”  
Cassianus made a strange noise, slightly disapproving. “But if she gives you something for me, you must deny it. I don’t want her charity.” He shifted a little. “I want to be a good slave,” he whispered.

Lucius slapped his forehead, cursing himself for saying that. “You’re not one, though.” “We all are slaves to God.”  
He’d heard that the Galileans believed that the Son of God was also a man, and that gave him an idea. “True, but even God would like you to have more clothes. Did your God only have one tunic?”

Cassianus made another soft noise between frustration and resignation. “I think not.” “Then why should you have one if God was happy with more? What does that tell you?” “He also said to share our belongings.”  
“You have no belongings,” he shouted, frustrated.

Cassianus stayed silent. “But I will, if you accept my sister’s charity,” he said after a few moments. Antaeus growled something which might have been ‘shut up’.  
Lucius grinned. “Then I will forbid you to give them away.” “Slaves have no belongings,” Antaeus muttered. “It is the law.” “See? Even Antaeus agrees with me.”  
Antaeus punched something.

“I’d forgotten about that,” Amycus mumbled. Then he started snoring again. Lucius smiled sighing. “Please, sleep. I’m tired.”  
He heard Cassianus shift again. “As you wish,” he said sullenly.  
“Good night.” “Good night.”  
He closed his eyes, still smiling. Cassianus may have been part-owl, but he was just a man.

**********

When he woke up, Cassianus was still there, lying quietly on his side, and looking away from him. Lucius glanced at Antaeus and Amycus, but they seemed asleep, huddled under their blankets. He cleared his throat softly, and Cassianus stirred. A moment later, he started to move.

“Wait,” he whispered.

Cassianus stopped. Slowly, he turned towards him. Lucius had the urge to ruffle his hair; it was already sticking up in all directions, and made him look more like a boy than a man, cute and precious at the same time. He kept his hands down.

“Do they know?” He made a vague gesture towards Amycus and Antaeus. “Know what?” Cassianus replied as softly.  
“That you are…” Lucius sighed. He didn’t want to frighten Cassianus. “Your secret is safe with me,” he finally said.

“What secret?”

“Do not pretend with me,” he said, and it came out a bit harsher than he intended. He felt Cassianus move even further away from him. “That you’re a follower of the Galilean.”

Cassianus snorted. “That is no secret.” Then he looked stern. “We call ourselves Christians.” Lucius smiled. “Impossible creature.”  
Cassianus snorted again, and Lucius felt himself redden. He hadn’t realised he’d said that out loud. “Well, I don’t care about it,” Lucius whispered. “I just wanted you to know that.”  
“That is appreciated,” Cassianus told him, and Lucius saw the hint of a smile. “You must be curious,” he said after a while.

“Not really,” he lied.

“Oh.” Cassianus was disappointed.

Lucius smiled. “I am,” he admitted. “But I also vowed to give my armour to Hercules, and I think I should do that as soon as possible.”

Cassianus frowned. Then he stood up. “You only believe in One God, right?” “True.”  
Lucius rubbed his eyes. If he asked why that one god had a son, and how, they’d never get out of the room. “I’ll ask you later,” he said, smiling and trying to show that he really didn’t care that Cassianus was a misguided fool, and he was only curious.

“As you wish.” Cassianus made a small huff that would have been laughter in any other person. “Titus would sometimes do the same, and run away be…” His voice broke, and he looked shaken. “I have to go,” he said, and hurried out of the room.

Antaeus sighed deeply next to him. So did Amycus a moment later.  
“Who is Titus?”

The two stared at each other, and then at him. “His brother,” Antaeus said. “My Master’s friend.” “Friend?”  
“The Greeks have a word for it. Eromenos,” Amycus said, saying it with difficulty. “The Greeks have a word for everything,” Lucius muttered.  
Antaeus smiled tightly. “I would not ask if I were you,” he then said forbiddingly. “Come,” he said to Amycus. “Time for breakfast.”

Lucius frowned as they left. Marcus had mentioned something about Cassianus’ brother being away, but no short absence would cause this reaction. And if Titus was away in the emperor’s service, then why should Cassianus be so sad instead of proud?

For Cassianus’ sake, he hoped Titus was in exile, and not dead.

He cleaned and washed himself a little, and then found Gaius. “Will you join me for prayer?”

Gaius had already dressed, wearing a tunic and a mantle as he did when he went out. He shrugged, and followed him, yet he moved and shifted impatiently throughout the prayer, short at it was.

Lucius finished, and turned to look at him. "You're worse than a caged animal. What is it?" "I was thinking."  
He snorted. "You're always thinking."

It made Gaius smile a little. "We should get ourselves a job, Lucius." "Like what?"  
"I don't know. They had asked me to become a gladiator trainer at the barracks."

Lucius nodded. "I remember." They had asked the same of him, but he had begged for time to consider his decision while his wounds healed.

"I'm thinking about it," Gaius said. "It's something I'm good at and…"

"Well?" He motioned his brother to continue when he say Gaius stayed silent.

Gaius paced around the courtyard. "I'm not sure I can live this life anymore. This," he shook his head. "Having nothing to do, move aimlessly from the baths to the house, or…"

"Don't you like it? Having nothing to do, for a change?" "I don't." Gaius grimaced. "I'm going out to think."  
If Lucius didn't know better, he'd suspect his brother of having an affair with someone, so often he left the house 'to think'. But Gaius was his own person. Lucius couldn't keep him a prisoner. If Gaius preferred to work, then so be it.

The moment he was out of the house, he changed his mind. He was curious, but the idea of interrupting  
Cassianus was intolerable. If the young man wanted to remember, or mourn, Lucius would let him in peace.

He’d had noticed that there was a proseuche in the neighbourhood, but if anyone asked him where it was, he couldn't have answered them. So, he felt a little foolish setting out, and trying to find it, but he had to start somewhere. The idea of going around the city, overhearing the various madmen in the fora or the gardens, in the hope that one of them would be a Christian was not particularly appealing. But he had heard that sometimes they went where the Jews prayed to preach, or argue with them. And if he didn't find any  
Christians, then, what better person than a Jew to inform him about another Jew?

Lucius wandered around, feeling like he was moving in circles. The smells of food coming from the various stalls alternatively made his mouth water and his stomach roll, the noises from the iron mongers and the cobblers made his head hurt, the shouts of the grocery sellers were insufferable, even when the fruit and vegetables looked appetizing and colourful.

In the end, he gave up to the demands of his stomach. He stopped in front of a counter, gave the man behind his friendliest smile, and bought a turn-over dish. The sweetness of honey and walnuts was perfectly balanced by the spiciness of the peppers and Lucius moaned happily at the first bite. "This is good."

The man laughed.

"Really. This is good. It has to be the best turn-over I've tried."

"Are you new here?" Someone asked him from the back of the small shop. "Everyone knows that Rufus' custards are the best in Rome."

"You have a loyal customer there," Lucius grinned.

Rufus glanced back, smiling. "He'd better be loyal. That's my brother." "He's not a liar," Lucius said after taking another bite. "This is really good."  
"I'm honoured that you think so," Rufus told him, with just a touch of irony in his voice. "Are you new here?" "To the city? I'm not. The area, you could say that. I moved in a few weeks ago."  
"Where? I haven't seen you before." Rufus' brother moved to the front of the shop, and grinned, revealing several missing teeth.

"Near Livia's Portico."

"Ah. That's far," Rufus said like it was the most serious matter. Lucius snorted. And if you were lost, it was even further away.  
"What are you doing here, then? If you didn't come for the turn-overs." Rufus' brother nodded. "You wouldn't believe how far people come from to try my brother's dishes."

"Oh, I would, and I can. This is delicious. Can I have another?"

Rufus grinned, and started toasting a good serving of crushed hazelnuts and walnuts. Lucius noticed that this was a larger portion but before, and licked his lips in anticipation.

"Well?"

It seemed like he would pay in gossip, and not just money. "I'm looking for the proseuche."

Rufus stopped pushing the nuts around the pan and stared at him. "Are you Jewish?" He sounded curious. "You don't look it."

"I'm not, but I have friends coming over from Pergamon. Jewish friends."

"Won't they know where to go?" Rufus' brother snorted. "It’s the same with every foreigner. They all come here knowing exactly where to find their compatriots. No Syrian ever had to ask where he can worship his Goddess, and every Gaul knows where Epona's image can be found, before he comes to Rome."

"True, but they are my guests. It is my duty to show them where to go."

Rufus added fragrant honey to the mixture. "There is one, just past Domitian's altar."

Rufus' brother nodded, and pointed the way, but that didn't help. Smiling at Lucius’ obvious confusion, he put  
his cup down. "We're here." He traced a line across the table. "That's the road. Go all the way to the Lake of Fundanus and then follow the street with the same name until you find the altar. It's a big one, taller than two men together. You can't miss it."

Rufus handed him the dish.

Lucius nodded. "Is it another of these altars that mark how far the fire during Nero's time had spread? I've seen one of them already."

"It is."

Lucius looked towards the street. "Hard to believe all this area had burned down." Not so hard that it had burned, but that the fire had spread so far, so quickly.

"Hard to believe it hasn’t burned recently," Rufus snorted. Rufus' brother nodded.  
"I will be on my way, then," Lucius said, as he finished the food. "But I'll be back. This was the best turn-over ever."

He walked out, smiling, as Rufus was saying to his brother, "Well, that was an easy-to-please fellow." "But it was a delicious dish," Lucius shouted, and then laughed, together with Rufus and his brother.  
Thanks to them he found the proseuche in no time. Their instructions couldn't have been clearer, and when  
he saw the building, Lucius smiled. It was as big as a big house, with a large entrance with steps, open at the moment. From there, he could see straight into the courtyard. He approached it, and stood by the door, trying to overhear the conversations around him and see…

Someone coughed behind him, and Lucius turned around to face him. A man, more or less Lucius’ age, stared hard at him. "This is private property."

Lucius stepped down. "I'm on the street." "You're bothering the people."  
"I'm not bothering anyone." He nodded around him, towards the people talking among themselves, the cloth sellers further back, the jewellers, the beggars. "I bet they haven't even noticed me."

"Chaireas," an old man sighed. "Leave him alone,”, he said in Greek. Then he turned to Lucius. “We've had trouble with young men like you in the past," he told Lucius, staring at him as hardly as Chaireas, even though he spoke softly. "What have we done to you? We pay our taxes and do our duties towards the emperor. Why don't you leave us in peace?"

"But I have come in peace," Lucius said simply. "I want to know about that Chrestos and, I tho…"

Chaireas cut him off. "Why did you come here? You'll find plenty of Christians around the gardens." Chaireas grimaced. "As if we have anything to do with those heretic lunatics."

The old man nodded. "They think they're better than us, believing a false prophet." He snorted. "They even claim he's from the line of David, shameless curs."

Lucius grinned. "That's what I want to know."

"Their lies?" The old man narrowed his eyes and bit back a curse. He started to turn. "Wait," Lucius told him in Greek. "I come in peace. I want to learn."  
The old man paused. He faced Lucius again. "Come, then. Let us speak." Lucius nodded, smiling.  
&*&*

When he came back to the house, he found Cassianus outside, trying to mend a tunic. Hermione was next to him, instructing him but every now and then she would look furtively at Antaeus and Amycus. They were glowering, but whether that was because they felt offended on Cassianus’ behalf or for some other reason, Lucius couldn’t tell.

"Come here," he said.

Cassianus moved forward. Hermione glared at him, then she looked down.

"Sit." He sat on the floor and pointed at the space next to him, smirking when Cassianus stood where he was, staring at him. "Come on, what are you waiting for? An invitation? Hermione, you can continue whatever you do later. Leave us."

Hermione smirked, but threw down the tunic, and the needle and thread and left them alone.

Cassianus narrowed his eyes, but the next moment, his expression changed, and his face became that of a statue, serene and calm and impenetrable. He settled easily next to him, almost like a cat or a dog, a pampered pet. And pampered he had been, and taken care of, but now he belonged to him temporarily, and he didn’t know what to do with him.

Lucius ignored the way Amycus and Antaeus sat there. Amycus was cracking his knuckles and looking ready to move and strike, if Lucius tried anything. Antaeus was staring levelly, in a way that was more threatening than Amycus’.

"I asked around about that god of yours," he said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t be overheard.

Cassianus looked at him and Lucius had the urge to ruffle his hair. He didn’t, though his fingers itched. “I heard that he was just a man, born out of wedlock.”  
“Lies, all lies.”

“So, his mother wasn’t a peasant, earning her livelihood by spinning, and when she chose a Roman soldier named Panthera over her old carpenter husband, he divorced her for adultery?”

“His mother was Mary, from the line of David, and she was faithful to her husband.”

“How could she be faithful to her husband and still have a son from God? Was she like Leda, the wife of  
Tyndareus, who had Helen and Pollux by Zeus, and Clytemnestra and Castor from her husband?” Cassianus stared at him, too surprised for words.  
“So, isn’t it more logical that Jesus was the son of that Roman soldier?” He grinned. “Romans are better than Greeks and Jews together,” he said, and gestured towards his dick in a way that showed how powerful a Roman cock was.

Cassianus blushed. “It is not,” he said when he got over his amazement. “He was the Son of God, not of a  
Roman soldier, and not of Joachim the carpenter.”

Lucius felt a bit ashamed, not for his words, but for his gesture, but he continued. “So, she was an adulteress.”

“Not any more than Leda.”

He grinned. “But she was an adulteress.”

“Then, she wasn’t like her. But she was not an adulteress. She was Chosen, and her husband submitted to  
God’s will.”

“Why should God take another man’s wife? Couldn’t he make one, or choose an unmarried one?”  
Cassianus stared at him again. “Because it was prophesied,” he said slowly. “So, a prophesy substitutes reason and common sense? Is that it?” Cassianus blinked.  
“What you think I’m only good for this?” he said, and grabbed his dick again, even if he was a bit ashamed that he was being obscene, judging from the way Cassianus frowned, “and not know of logos?”

Cassianu’ eyes gleamed, and he nodded, smiling a little. “But that’s it. God is logos, and so prophesies are part of his plan and demonstrate his providence. God is wise and good, and manifested Himself through his Son, so that we may know Him.”

It was Lucius’ turn to stare.  
“Do you accept or not that reason is the force that acts upon the universe and causes its changes?” “I…” Lucius shrugged. “I’ve never thought about the universe, or the world, or what made it,” he said,  
grinning. “What was the point? The world is as it is, and no matter what I think, it won’t change. No matter what I do won’t change it, either. So, why bother?”

“But,” Cassianus started.

“My brother only believes in what his senses tell him,” Gaius said suddenly from the entrance.

“But what his senses tell him are the story of the world, the results of Divine Reason changing matter.” Gaius frowned. “So, your God is like the god of the Stoics?”  
“Of course not.”

“He too is logos acting upon matter,” Gaius said reasonably. “Why don’t you explain it to me? Perhaps away from this idiot,” he grinned. “It’s nice outside, let’s go for a walk.”

Cassianus glanced at him and Lucius shrugged, giving him permission. The young man stood up gracefully, and Lucius felt like slapping himself. Why was Cassianus asking for permission? Why was he giving it? Fuck.

“Take your mantle,” Gaius said. “It might get windy later.” Cassianus nodded and hurried to his room.  
“Brother,” Gaius said when Lucius glared at him, “you’ll never seduce him if you insult his god.” He grinned. “I’m doing you a favour.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You do.” He leaned down. “There’s a copy of… Ah, there you are,” he smiled, seeing Cassianus, and moved away. “Let’s go,” he said.

Amycus and Antaeus followed them out, quiet as shadows.

Lucius could have killed his brother. Which book was he about to suggest? Not that he had many, but the idea of going through his brother’s books was dreadful. And what was he supposed to be looking for? Something on the nature of the world? Something about god? What?

Sighing, he went to the other side of the courtyard, picked up the tunic and started sewing the tear himself. At least that gave him something to do.

&*&*

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Gaius and Cassianus came back, but he knew that they found him in the courtyard, still trying to figure out what to do.  
“I should have finished that first,” Cassianus said, looking at the tunic Lucius was still holding. “Never mind. Lucius likes fixing things.”  
Cassianus turned at Gaius, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. Gaius grinned and nodded. “So, what did you do? Talk philosophy all day?”  
“Of course,” Gaius said.

“The Ulpia library was almost empty,” Cassianus added, “so we could find everything we needed with ease.” “I’m glad.”  
“I wonder if Hermione is missing that,” Cassianus said suddenly. He grabbed the tunic from Lucius’ hands, together with the small box with the threads and needles that was next to him, and went to the back.

Amycus and Antaeus sat down, staring at him, daring him to move. He didn’t, and Amycus stretched back, trying to catch the sun.

“The things I do for you,” Gaius said as he sat down and gave him a must cake. “Daphne sends her regards.” “No one asked you to,” he said, biting into the sweet.  
Gaius snorted. “You could have said thanks. I missed the chariot races today.” “Eh?”  
“The Roman Games, Lucius. They started two weeks ago.”

Lucius frowned. He’d been so besotted with his freedom, and whatever confusion Cassianus made him suffer, that he hadn’t noticed. “Is that where you’ve been going?”

“Where else? I was waiting for you to notice, but I guess you’ve been preoccupied with other things,” he smirked. “The chariot races will go on until the end of the Games. Will you join me?”

His first Roman Games and he’d almost missed them. “Of course.”

“Your philosopher really doesn’t like them. When we came out of the Library and came across people shouting that their team had won, he scowled at them. If it weren’t for Amycus and Antaeus, we’d have got beaten up.”

Antaeus grinned. “No one touches the Master. Or his friends.” “That’s good to know.”  
“You’re not one of them,” Antaeus added, glaring at him. Lucius had the impression that Antaeus was teasing him, and so he smiled. The glare softened, and Antaeus laughed.

“Do you miss not going to the Games? Marcus probably goes there every year.” Amycus shrugged. “Seen ‘em once, seen ‘em all, that’s what I think.”  
“Listening to clever people argue is more interesting,” Antaeus said. “They get all agitated, and raise their voices and get all red in the face,” he grinned. “You’d think they were fighting, and not talking.”

“They look like roosters crowing and flapping their wings before a fight,” Amycus added.

Gaius laughed. “There was a Cynic and an Epicurean in the entrance of the library today, each trying to persuade the people that his way was best.”

“Who won?”  
“I don’t know. We didn’t stay to hear them out.” Gaius stretched his arms. “I hope Phoenix made dinner. I’m hungry.” He leaned close to Lucius. “Also, if your philosopher doesn’t sleep with you tonight, don’t be offended,” he whispered. “He’s angry at you.”

“Why?”

Gaius slapped him at the back as he stood up. “Because you’re an idiot. Saying his god is a man, when he is not. Although he is.” Gaius frowned. “Their god is like a chimera. Man at the front, God at the back, and something else in the middle.”

Antaeus shrugged. “I say, don’t ask, when you don’t wanna know.” “But I want to know.”  
“Then you should have asked,” Amycus told him seriously as he stood up. Lucius groaned. This was a conspiracy, but what was its purpose?  
**********

In the end Gaius was wrong; ‘the philosopher’ did come to his bed that night. He stayed at his side of it, quiet and still, and Lucius felt that it would have been better if he had slept elsewhere. He wanted Cassianus to  
talk to him, tell him what he had read and talked about with Gaius, tell him about his brother, or his God, or anything. Anything but this silence.

That he managed to sleep at all was a miracle. He kept waking up, and with eyes used to the darkness he’d find Cassianus’ still form, and wanted to shake him awake, and ask him to talk to him. Then he’d go back to sleep, wake up again sometime later, and start again.

But in the morning Cassianus was there, awake and moving and staring down at him. “I need to talk to  
Marcus,” he said the moment Lucius opened his eyes. “As you wish.”  
“I will be back,” he said, as if sensing Lucius’ worry.

“You don’t have to.” He stood up, glanced at Antaeus and Amycus and sighed. “You’ll be better off there.” Cassianus sighed. “Will we have the same argument again? I go where God leads me.”  
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Amycus shrug. Antaeus mouthed ‘agree, agree.’ “Fine. Do as you will.”  
Cassianus gave him a tiny smile, and hurried out of the room. Amycus stayed behind. “It’s always easier if you agree with him,” he said, nodding like he was talking from experience. Perhaps he was.

“I’ll buy you a drink or two when you come back. You and Antaeus both,” he added quickly. Amycus snorted. “Save your money.” And then he was out, probably running after his Master.  
Lucius knocked on Gaius’ door, and then opened it. His brother was still in bed, staring at the ceiling. “He’s gone to see his friend,” he said.

“Has he? Why don’t you go with him?” “Why?”  
“To see what kind of a person Marcus really is.” “I don’t think he’d like that.”  
“He? Marcus or your philosopher?”  
“Cassianus.” He frowned. “Why do you keep calling him ‘my philosopher’?”

“Because he’s yours, and he’s a philosopher? Or, at least, he wants to be one?” Gaius replied innocently. “He’s not mine. And he’s a Christian.”  
“But some Christians are like philosophers. Or, so I heard.” Lucius sighed. “Are you going to the races today?”  
“Of course,” Gaius grinned. He got out of bed, yawning. “Are you?” “Maybe?” He leaned against the wall. “I’ll have a bath first and then decide.” “As you wish.”  
He left Gaius and went to the courtyard. Why couldn’t he care more about the chariot races? Everyone did. People were more passionate about them than they were about gladiators, and that was something. There was a time he’d even wished he were a charioteer, thinking that nothing could be like being able to drive as fast as he could. Granted, he’d been five, but he already knew how wonderful it was to ride a chariot driven by the quickest horses.

And that’s where he was, thinking of when he was five, and Father would take him riding, and Mother would be waiting for them, when a slave arrived from Marcus to inform him that Master Cassianus would be staying with him for a few days. Screw the races. He didn’t want to do anything. Except maybe stay where he was, and pray for a storm so heavy and so violent that it would ruin the races for the day.

&*&*

For three days he stayed indoors, and on the fourth he went out to Charinus’ baths, where Eros soothed him as best as he could. Only, it left him feeling empty, and unsatisfied. On the fifth day since Cassianus had left, Gaius told him he was being insufferable, and on the sixth, he realised that he was counting time based on when Cassianus had left. On the seventh he decided he didn’t care, and on the eighth, he was finally ready to go to Marcus and ask for news.

And he would have done it, only Cassianus returned that same morning, wearing new clothes and looking well-rested, and Lucius felt ashamed for not having noticed the signs of weariness before. His eyes looked bluer without the faint, dark circles beneath them and his cheeks were painted a healthy, rosy hue, a shade paler than the rosy colour of his lips. And even though he was still pale, like he spent more time indoors than outside, he looked radiant.  
“I thought you had decided to stay with Marcus,” he said, and hoped there was no bitterness in his voice. Cassianus frowned, and tilted his head a little. “Did you not receive my messages? Marcus has a villa in the  
Alban Hills, and he insisted we go there. I sent you a message before we left, another when we arrived, and a third one to let you know I would be back today.”  
“You’re free to do as you like,” he said, and this time he knew he sounded bitter, and maybe a little angry. “But you are my Master,” Cassianus said softly. “I would not want you to accuse me of running away, and  
Marcus of harbouring a fugitive.” “I wouldn’t have done that.”  
Cassianus kept frowning. “I do not understand you,” he finally said. And then he smiled. “Can I go to the room you’ve given me?”

He noticed Amycus and Antaeus carrying two boxes, and wondered what they contained. Whatever it was, it was enough to make Cassianus want to open them as soon as possible. “Of course,” he said.

Gaius sighed behind him the moment they were gone. “At least he’s back.”  
“Only because he fears the law.”

Gaius sighed again. “Perhaps you should free him. Let him go back to his father, and then, you can pursue him, if that is what you want.”

“I don’t want that. I want a friend.”

“Of course you do,” Gaius told him, smirking for a moment. “Why don’t we go to the festival of Mother  
Venus? There’s free food. Free meat.”

Lucius looked towards the back. Cassianus didn’t seem to be coming out any time soon. And Gaius was right; at least he was back. “Why not?”

Gaius looked at him strangely. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Lucius stayed quiet for a while. “I can’t let him go back to his father. Do you remember how angry he’d looked? What if I give him back and he kills him?”

Gaius grimaced, and looked at Lucius like he was an idiot. “If he wanted to kill him, he could have done it before.”

“He doesn’t deserve him. If I had a son like that, I’d cherish him.”

Gaius’ bit his lips. A moment later he snorted. “Sure, Lucius. Now it’s a son you want.” “I’ve always wanted a son. I’d like to have a family some day.”  
“Well, you’re not getting any younger. If you are to have a family, you should start planning it soon.” He pointed slightly at the pretty red-head in a blue mantle, standing next to a jeweller and glancing up at Lucius with the same interest that she looked down at the glass-paste necklaces. “That’s a fine woman,” he said. Then he gestured towards a young girl, dressed in pale pink and yellow. She too was glancing at Lucius, her cheeks stained pinker than her dress. “And she will make a wonderful wife.”

Lucius dismissed them both. “They’re not,” he started and cut himself off. Was he really about to say something as stupid as ‘not the one for me’? Like he believed in love the way it was written about in novels. Marriage was a partnership, making a family his duty as a Roman. If desire was involved, then so much the better, but it wasn’t necessary. He glanced at a third woman, a brown-haired, dark-skinned beauty wearing more jewels than clothes. Instead of a coy glance, she stared back, studying him. After a while he felt like a prize horse, and he looked away first. “I don’t want any of them,” he said.

Gaius kept staring at him strangely.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. When Cas was gone, it was all I could think of and now?”

Gaius looked surprised, and then he frowned. “We’re not having this discussion again, are we?” He sighed, exasperated. “It’s all you’ve been talking about for a week. When you weren’t brooding, that is.”

“I wasn’t brooding.”

“You were. In fact, you were brooding so much, there should be a new word for it.” “I wasn’t.”  
“You were.” “Was not.” “You were.”  
Lucius knew this was an argument he would not win. Gaius could go on for hours like this. “What are you? Five?” he asked instead.

Gaius smirked.  
Lucius glared at him and tried to stomp ahead. Stupid brother of his. Saying that he was brooding because  
Cassianus was gone. As if.

&*&*

The temple of Mother Venus was not that far, but everyone seemed to have had the same idea as Lucius and the crowds that thronged the Argiletum made it difficult to walk. It made sense; the road led straight to the Caesar’s Forum, where the temple was. It was a beautiful sight, women in their best clothes and wearing garlands of roses, their slaves carrying myrtle branches, the men in their startling white togas. But together with his brother’s tendency to stare at each and every bookstore, it meant that by the time they reached the temple the procession and even the sacrifice was already over. Every now and then, the wind brought over the scent of blood and not all the roses and myrtles could cover it.

As they fought for a place nearer the sacrifice area, Lucius elbowing his way towards the centre of the enclosed space, Gaius intimidating everyone by his size, he realised that Gaius was right; Cassianus had come back. He shouldn’t be doing whatever he was doing (because he really hadn’t been brooding).

He turned his eyes towards the temple of Mother Venus. She should look kindly upon him, for she understood everything. And wasn’t her son a Roman too? She should be motherly towards the children of her favourite son. “Next time, we should go inside the temple. There are paintings by Timomachus inside.”

Gaius snorted. “And a gilded statue of Cleopatra. Admit it, it’s her you want to see.”

“So what if I do? The woman that managed to seduce Caesar must have been something.” “Caesar was a wife to all men, and a husband to all women,” Gaius said, smiling.  
“Says who?”

“The Elder Curio, in one of his speeches.”

Some days, Lucius hated his brother’s memory for words. But then someone hit him at the ribs, and he realised that the attendants had started distributing the meat. A moment later, the wind carried the scent of burning meat and fat, and it started teasing his nostrils. He spotted the thin column of smoke a little later, and grinned at Gaius. “Food for the gods.”

“You prefer the food for men.” “Of course. Don’t you?”  
Gaius didn’t answer that. Instead, he moved forward, and tried to get closer to the attendants.  
Lucius followed his example, and smiled winningly at the slaves when they came towards him, praising their efficiency and kindness. He kept on smiling, lying about his poor father waiting at home, unable to walk, and their sick mother, and his wife, pregnant with their first child. And he wasn’t surprised when they said nothing when he took more than his share. He had a family to feed, after all. Gaius would probably laugh at him, tell him they could afford meat if they wanted it, but a lifetime's habit of waiting in line for sacrificial offerings was hard to break.

And there was something about free anything that just appealed to him. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone, let alone Gaius. Especially not when Gaius was right next to him, charming the attendants in his own, slightly clumsy way, lying about how he had several little brothers and sisters waiting for him. Lucius wasn’t surprised that Gaius got pieces that were just as big as the ones Lucius had been given.

Free food always made him happy, regardless of what else happened. And when they came back and found Phoenix in the kitchen, he kicked him out, declaring that he would cook the meat himself. Phoenix would probably cook something fancy, could make the meat look like fish in a rich sauce, but some days, especially these sunny days, when summer’s warmth lingered into autumn, there was nothing that could compare with grilled meat served with fresh, green leaves on flatbread. And some cheese too. And then fruits. Or Daphne’s honey cakes.

Perhaps Cassianus would think him a barbarian, but Amycus came inside the kitchen, nostrils flaring and eyes shining, and he knew he had a supporter. When Antaeus came too, he couldn't stop grinning.  
"You look happy," Gaius told him as he helped with the greens. "One would think you didn't spend a week," he coughed, "brooding for the loss of your philosopher."

Lucius glared at him, and glanced sideways to Cassianus’ bodyguards. Amycus was studying him speculatively, but Antaeus was frowning.”Shut up,” he told his brother. “I wasn’t brooding. Or missing him.”

Gaius smirked. “If you say so,” he told him pleasantly. Then he showed him what he had been working on. Heaps of shredded leaves and sliced cucumbers on a big platter. “I'm taking these out." He licked his lips. "I can't wait."

Amycus nodded. He took the plate with the flatbreads Lucius had bought on his way back from the temple and the smaller bowl with the olives, and went out, following Gaius.

Lucius grinned. At least someone didn’t need to be told twice what to do. He heaped some of the meat pieces on another plate and handed it to Antaeus. "Make yourself useful."

"You’re still not my Master," he said cheekily, but took the platter anyway. And then he came back to take the cheese out.

Lucius took the rest of the meat out himself. He raised it up, showing it to everyone, grinning at how eagerly they all seemed to wait. Gaius had decided to have them all seated down on the floor arranged in a circle, as if they were not master and slaves, and Lucius praised Julia one more time for her cleverness. Hermione seemed the most uncomfortable, but Gaius was doing his best to reassure her that it was alright, smiling at her.

"Think this is Saturnalia, celebrated early," Lucius said, staring at Hermione, as he sat down. "Here." He put the plate in the middle of the circle, next to the ones brought out by Antaeus and his brother. "Eat."

Cassianus looked mildly amused, and Lucius smiled at him. "Eat," he said more softly, staring at him. Gaius coughed. "Let's see if your cooking skills have improved, brother," he said, grabbing a juicy morsel. "My cooking skills are great and need no improving."  
Gaius snorted.

Lucius ignored him, and hoped that no one believed Gaius. He handed a piece to Hermione himself, when he saw her hesitating, and smiled when he saw Antaeus and Amycus bickering over the meat. Phoenix, at least, had needed no encouragement, and had smiled back, approving of his cooking. It made Lucius happy.

The only thing that would have made him happier, he realised, was if Cassianus would eat too. He stood up and moved next to him, when he realised that the young man only picked at leaves, and had eaten nothing but two pieces of cheese. "Why don't you try some?" he said, offering Cassianus a small, tempting piece with his fingers. He hoped it was a tempting piece: all meat and no bones, and Lucius resisted the urge to lick his fingers.

"I don't eat meat," Cassianus told him quietly. "You don't?"  
"I don't."

Lucius frowned. He took a piece of bread and wrapped the meat in it. "But this is delicious," he said, offering it again.

"It is…" Cassianus looked down, picking an olive. "I don't like it." "Nonsense. Everyone likes meat."  
"Actually, I knew this person who hated the taste of goat's meat," Gaius said, looking at him strangely. "But he ate everything else."  
"See?" He tried to press the meat against Cassianus' lips, but Cassianus pulled back, looking disgusted, while Amycus grabbed him at the same time and pushed him away from Cassianus. "What?" he glared at Amycus. "It's just meat."

"Then you won't mind if I do that," Gaius said, swooping down and grabbing the piece from Lucius' fingers. "Let him be," he whispered just for Lucius' ears before pulling back with a grin. "This is really good," he mumbled chewing.

Lucius blinked, and shrugged Amycus' hands off. Cassianus had managed to compose himself, but he still glared at the meat as if it offended him. Perhaps Christians avoided the meat from sacrifices as they avoided sacrificing? What a stupid lot; denying themselves for the sake of a god who was both god and man. Lucius picked up another piece of meat, and then stood up. "I saw some eggs in the kitchen," he said. "Do you eat meat that is not yet meat?"

Cassianus stared at him.

"Do you?" When Cassianus continued staring at him, incredulous, Lucius sighed, and didn't care that his brother thought him an idiot, if his expression was an indication. "This is a feast for me and my family, and you are now part of it. I won't have you eat leaves or olives, like…" He shrugged, and couldn't finish the sentence. Not with Phoenix or Hermione present.

Antaeus stood up. "I'll help you," he said. "I know how the Master likes his eggs."

Cassianus blushed, embarrassed, and Lucius grinned, chewing slowly. Cassianus had the sweetest blush, as sweet and shy as any virgin girl's. He suddenly stopped in his tracks. What if Cassianus was a virgin? Some said that Christians did nothing but orgies, but others said both men and women kept themselves pure for their god.

Fuck. If he thought that competing against a rich, spoilt patrician was difficult, how could he compete against a god? He stared helplessly as Antaeus mixed garum, honey and vinegar in a bowl. "You have no pepper?"

Lucius handed the small container to him. "Boil or fry?"

"Poach." Antaeus let the mixture alone and started crushing nuts with a mortar and pestle. "I've been watching you," he said staring at Lucius intensely as he turned them into the finest powder - such was the force of his strikes."You will treat my Master with respect, or I'll make you wish you had fallen against a wall."

"And there I thought you'd liked me."

Antaeus growled. "I do, but I like my Master more. The eggs are done. Take them out now, or I'll put them under your armpits and then you'll see what pain is."

"I'm not your enemy," Lucius protested as he removed the eggs from the water. Cassianus, apparently, liked them lightly cooked.

Antaeus narrowed his eyes. "That remains to be seen," he said as he poured the liquid mixture over the eggs, then added the crushed nuts and some extra pepper. "Keep your hands to yourself," he told Lucius handing him back the plate.

Lucius frowned. "I only want to be his friend. That's all."

Antaeus sneered and pushed Lucius out. But Cassianus' amazed expression when he saw Lucius was worth listening to Antaeus' threats. And his delight when he tried the eggs, and that low hum of pleasure, was enough to make Lucius think he wouldn't mind having his armpits burned, if he got to hear that again.

His desire was a dreadful thing, but so easily satisfied. A sigh of pleasure, a small smile, was all it took. What was wrong with him, to be happy with so little, when everything from others didn’t give him any pleasure?

He couldn’t be in love. Every person who fell in love in the poems or the novels wanted everything from their lovers, and could not rest until they had them. But he was happy with a smile. Happier when Cassianus brushed his fingers against his as he reached for a piece of bread. What kind of a disease was this?

&*&*  
That evening, he took Amycus and Antaeus out for a drink. “Not a peace-offering,” he told them, grinning, and they accepted.

“What I don’t understand,” he started when they had all settled in Lydia’s tavern, and waited for cabbage and sausages, but didn’t finish.

Antaeus cut him off. “I told you before, and I’ll say it again. Keep your hands to yourself and it will all be fine.” “Did Marius keep his hands off Titus?”  
Amycus snorted. “Then why should I?”  
“Because Master Cassianus is different,” Antaeus insisted.

“He’s different because you won’t let him grow up. He’s a man, not a child.” Antaeus studied him. “You think so?”  
“I do.” He looked at them earnestly. “I’ll show respect, not because you say so, but because he deserves it. But I will…” He shrugged, and grabbed his cup. He didn’t recognise himself in the wine’s reflection. What did he want? The idea of doing with Cassianus what Eros did with him made his cheeks catch fire. And at the same time there was something about Cassianus that made the idea seem absurd.

“Perhaps we have been too protective,” Antaeus said slowly. “But he is not a man, not yet.”

“I’ll help him grow up,” he promised. He looked up and saw Amycus and Antaeus studying him. “I will.” Amycus frowned. “You speak like Titus. That is dangerous.”  
“If you die on him, I’ll dig out your bones and make your body dog food,” Antaeus growled. Then he banged his cup on the table. “More wine.”

Only when he was back home, lying down in bed - alone, for who knew what Cassianus thought? - did he realise that they had given him permission to pursue Cassianus. Lucius shuddered, and promised to all the gods that he’d prove worthy of the task. Cassianus deserved nothing else.

**********

He found Cassianus having his breakfast in the courtyard, and sat down to join him. “Did you sleep in your room last night?”

“I did.”

He tried not to sigh, and failed.

Cassianus pushed the plate with the food towards him. “Olives? Dates? Nuts? Figs?” When he didn’t take anything, Cassianus frowned. “Should I get you something else? You’re not hungry?”

He took an olive, more to stop him than anything.

“These were sent from Athens, and so were the figs. The dates are from Egypt, and the nuts…” Cassianus looked down. “Marcus told me, but I forgot,” he said, embarrassed.

He took a fig, and unlike the hard, tasteless, chewy ones that they had at home, it was soft, and sweet, and he chewed it carefully, enjoying the way its flavour was deep, like honey that had crystallised, and smoky, and full. “Marcus gave them to you?”

“He did.”

“And you share them with me?”  
“With everyone,” Cassianus said as if that was obvious. “I’m surprised you took them.”  
Cassianus studied him, wondering perhaps if Lucius was mocking him. “He made me,” he finally said. “Had his slaves dress me up, and got Amycus and Antaeus to carry everything.”

“You denied your sister, but not him?” He smiled.

“He said he’d punish Amycus and Antaeus if they didn’t make sure I kept his gifts. I know he would do it.” “Oh. Why not lie to him, and throw everything away, or give it to others?”  
“I am not a liar.” Cassianus fingered his tunic. It was the one Lucius had given him. “And it is my choice whether I’ll wear what he gave me now.”

“I liked the clothes Marcus gave you, though. Maybe we should go shopping today.”

Cassianus looked at him disapprovingly. “If you have money to spend on your slaves, then spend them on winter cloaks for Phoenix and Hermione, not me. The weather is still nice, but it’s already getting colder at nights.”

Lucius grinned. “It’s a pity I’m not richer. I could have made you manager of my household, since you’re determined to work and that’s something you can do. I’ll ask Gaius to buy them winter clothes,” he promised.

“Thank you.” He looked at him with a sly expression. “I saw that Julia gave you clothes for me, and I think she plans to give me more,” he said. “Things suitable for winter. I can give them to Hermione and Phoenix, and so you won’t have to send Gaius to buy cloaks.”

He wasn’t surprised that Cassianus had found them. He hadn’t made any effort to hide them. “You’ve already shared the clothes your sister gave you?”

“I did.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to do that?”

“You said you’d make me not share - I distinctly remember that you used the future tense, not present imperative.”

Lucius glared at him, but it wasn’t like he could stay angry when Cassianus’ eyes shone with amusement. “Has anyone ever told you you’re annoying and argumentative?”

“They told me I was witty and clever and wise beyond my years.”

“They meant annoying. Believe me.” He grinned widely, and took another fig. Cassianus huffed, smiling. “Did you dedicate your armour yet?” he asked after a while. “I haven’t.”  
“May I join you when you do that?” “Why not? Should we go today?” “That would be nice.”  
Lucius stood up. “Come.” Could Christians go in temples? Perhaps this one could. “Have you seen my armour yet? Of course you haven’t. Have you ever been to the amphitheatre?” Then he smacked his forehead. “Of course not. That’s how Commodus first noticed you. Because of your absence.”

“So, that’s what got me in trouble in the first place,” Cassianus murmured softly behind him. He sighed. “I  
don’t like bloodshed. It’s wrong.”  
Lucius frowned, but didn’t defend himself. How could he, when he too felt it was wrong? “This is my helmet,”  
he said instead, taking it out of the box where he had stored it together with the rest of his armour.

Cassianus took it carefully, and Lucius was surprised at how he studied it. Like it was a book, or an art work. “There’s Hercules,” he said, tracing the figure of the hero. “And the Muses.” His fingers looked delicate, his hand too pale against the bronze. Lucius wanted to touch him.

“I’ll dedicate it to him. I know he’s not playing the lyre here,” he said, and even though he pointed at the Hercules, he didn’t touch Cassianus, “but he’s with his club, like the warrior he is, but I prefer him as leader of the Muses.”

“Why?”

“Because strength is pointless without the gifts of the goddesses. There is no use in having an agile, strong body, but no mind to guide it.” He sat on the edge of his bed. “A lot of people don’t understand how what we do is not about killing. It’s about being efficient, and clever, and controlled.”

“But you do kill.”

Lucius grimaced. “We do,” he sighed. He looked at Cassianus. “I won’t lie or pretend that some don’t do it for the excitement, and the chance of killing, or being killed in glory and in public. But many of us have no choice.” He looked down, ashamed he hadn’t been in the Barracks in a while. What would his friends there think? That he’d turned his back on them the moment he was freed?

“You said you did it to protect your brother,” Cassianus whispered.

“I did.” He leaned down, and took out his arm guard. There were griffins there, and flowers on tendrils. “He had a choice, but he was stupid. And that left me with no other choices.” His greaves were next, with the medusa heads gleaming in the light like they could petrify it.

“You could have left him do as he wished. You didn’t have to go after him.” “You’re not an older brother, are you?”  
“I was the youngest.”

“That’s why you don’t understand.” He took out his small, curved sword carefully. “I would do anything for my brother,” he said, looking at Cassianus.

“I see.” Cassianus put down the helmet. “Perhaps it will be easier to carry them if they’re back in the box?” Lucius groaned. “Now you tell me?”  
Cassianus bit back a snort.

Annoying. Definitely annoying. Lucius grinned.

&*&*

For a while, Lucius carried the box with his weapons. But as they passed the Baths of Trajan, Cassianus tugged at his sleeve. “I should carry it now.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m the slave, am I not?”

Something about the way Cassianus was staring expectantly at him made him grin. He would have ruffled his hair if his hands were free. “Forget it.”

Antaeus nodded his approval.

“I want to do something,” he almost whined.  
Amycus slid between them. “Give me,” he said, and took the box before Lucius could say anything. “But I want to be useful,” Cassianus insisted.  
“Then, talk to me,” Lucius said. “What’s the best thing about being the youngest in a family?”

Cassianus frowned in concentration. “Let me think,” he said. “I was lucky enough to be raised from the  
ground by my father, and to grow up in a big house. As a child, that there were always people around me, but I was four when I first realised how they would dote on me just because I was the youngest. I’m not talking about our slaves, or their house-born children, because it was their duty to look after me.

“I’m talking about Julia and Titus, and Cassius. Cassius was two years older than me, and so he was my playmate more than anyone else.” He sighed. “I don’t remember him well, because he died when I was five, but I remember he taught me all the games he knew. He liked playing ball, and he was very good at it, if one can say such a thing about children. Pistoxenos, his tutor, would make us little boats carved of wood, and we would put them in the lake, and see where they would go.” He smiled, and looked at Lucius. “That is strange; I hadn’t thought of Cassius in a long time. He looked a little like Mother.”

But since he didn’t look sad, Lucius smiled back. “So, it is better to be the youngest?”

“Is it? I am not sure. I’m not as clever as Julia, nor as…” He frowned. “Titus was perfect in everything, in words and deeds and form. So, I don’t understand why they spent so much time with me. Julia would let me listen to her lessons, and thanks to her, I learned to appreciate poetry first, and then philosophy, and then the best teaching of all, the word of God. And Titus…” He stopped, and smiled. “Titus taught me riding and making speeches and always found time for me.”

Lucius could understand Titus a little. He’d done the same with Gaius, followed him around to make sure he was fed and clothed and rested, and taught him everything he knew. “Big brothers are like that,” he said.

“But why? I was just a child, knowing nothing and learning slowly. And Titus had so many friends and then all his duties.”

“It’s how big brothers are.”

Cassianus didn’t look like he believed him, but continued his praise of his siblings. Julia was not just clever, she was also full of faith and piety, virtuous even as a girl, while Titus was perfect in everything he did, and that was all he would say on the matter. He’d be proud if he became half as pious as Julia, and half as courageous as Titus, only pride was a sin, so he shouldn’t want this, should he?

Lucius let him talk, only half-paying attention to what he said. The rest of the time he made sure no one fell on Cassianus as he walked oblivious to the crowds, and that Cassianus didn’t slip where the stones were wet and slippery, or there were steps. He paid attention to the sound of his voice, how effortlessly it rose when the noise around them was too much, how it fell back to a soft, pleasant murmur when it was quiet. How controlled he was in his gestures, even when he talked full of excitement about Julia’s literary accomplishments and the time Titus wrote a speech to honour Father on his return from the war.

This condition of his could not be love, could it? The Greeks would have the answer to his questions. Did  
Gaius have a copy of Phaedrus, by any chance?

He pretended not to notice how Cassianus faltered when they approached the Curia, and looked at it wistfully. His father probably took him there when the senate met to get him accustomed to the ‘family business’, the way senators had started doing recently. Lucius cursed himself for choosing the shortest way to the temple, the way that went through the Roman Forum, and pointed instead to the Black Stone, and pretended he’d never heard of it.

Cassianus shot him an incredulous glance. “That’s where Romulus died. It was on the thirty-seventh year from the founding of Rome, on the fifth of July, but surely you know this story?” When Lucius shook his head, he continued. “He came to offer sacrifices to the gods in front of all the people and the Senate, but then the sky darkened, and there was a whirlwind. When it passed, Romulus was no more. His body was nowhere to be seen and as is the way of the world, the plebs immediately accused the patricians of killing the king.”

Lucius snorted. “The way of the world?”  
“Being born a patrician can be as hard as being born a slave.” Lucius snorted again.  
Cassianus glared at him for a moment. “People envy us, and call us hypocrites behind our backs when they don’t lie to our face, and,” he lowered his voice, and came close to him, “the emperor doesn’t trust us,” he whispered. “Just look at me.”

Lucius did, even though that wasn’t what Cassianus meant. He still thought the trials of a patrician’s life were nothing compared to those of a slave, but if Cassianus wanted to think so, then he’d let him.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Cassianus continued. “You say this was because I didn’t go to the amphitheatre, and I refused to find pleasure in bloodshed, but I think this was because God wants to teach me humility.” He smiled. “I’m happy of my servitude. Even though you don’t let me do much,” he said accusingly.

“As soon as I think of something that you’re good at, I’ll let you do it,” he promised. He didn’t mean to offend, but Cassianus blushed and glared and looked away, anger following embarrassment and then changing into shame and sadness. “I bet you’re good at many things,” he added hastily. “So, what happened with Romulus?”

“Proculus, one of the senators, came forward, and swore how he’d seen Romulus ascend to Heaven, and heard him say that he was now a god, Quirinus. This was where it all happened,” he said, pointing back towards the Black Stone. “So, this is not his tomb, just a place associated with death, since Romulus is now a god. Not that I believe that, since all gods are false but the One, but since you asked…” he finished, smiling sweetly.

Lucius nodded at all the appropriate places. He suspected that if he asked about the rostra, and if the ships’ bronze prows were really taken from ships captured at the sea-battle of Actium, when the Divine Augustus defeated Marc Anthony and brought peace to the world, Cassianus would really think him an idiot. He pointed instead to the temple of the Castors, and asked about that. Did Cassianus know how the two Greek brothers had come to Rome? “I left the barracks as often as I could, but it was not often enough, and I’m still a stranger here.”

Cassianus looked at him with sadness. “I hope the Games are banished,” he said with fervour. “But people like them too much. Bread and circuses,” he sighed. “You know about Tarquinius Superbus.”

“The father of Sextus, rapist of Lucretia.”

“You’d know that,” Cassianus muttered so softly Lucius almost missed it.

He looked away. “Everyone does,” he said, hoping he didn’t look embarrassed. Did Cassianus mean that he’d know of the rapist, because he was one? Or that he was someone who only liked fanciful and sensational tales, as Gaius often said?

Cassianus blushed again. He cleared his throat, and continued. “After he was overthrown, he tried to take back Rome, and together with the Latin people, fought the Roman army near Lake Regillus. But two mysterious horsemen appeared, and led the army forward and to victory. Afterwards, they appeared again, watering their horses there, where the temple now stands, and announced the victory to the Roman people. Aulus Postumius, who was dictator at the time, vowed to honour them with a temple for their help and guidance, and so he did.”

“It’s a nice story.”

“Shouldn’t you have more respect? It’s your gods, after all.”

“It happened so long ago, who’s to say what’s real and what not?” He grinned. “You really believe in what you see now, don’t you?”  
Lucius shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that.” Cassianus stared at him like he wanted to say something, perhaps on the nature of god, or something even more complicated, and so he said the first thing that came to mind. “You ever read Pindar? He had this poem where he mentioned the Castors, and how they tricked  
Idas and Lyncaeus.”

“The Nemean one to Theaeus, son of Ulias?”

He nodded. “Gaius likes it, but I can never remember it.” “I know it. Want me to recite it to you?”  
He nodded again.

“Graces, sing of the city of Danaus and his fifty daughters on their splendid thrones,” he started, not thinking to ask if Lucius could understand Greek.

But Lucius didn’t mind. Even if he were unable to understand, he’d still be able to appreciate Cassianus’ perfect accent and his flawless pronunciation. He spoke it like an Athenian, and it had been so long since he’d heard Greek spoken without stuttering, or halts, or in accents so thick his tutors would have called them barbaric, or worse, Latin.

The Greeks were pretty intolerant of others, when he thought about it, too arrogant and proud in their cultural accomplishments to appreciate the efforts others put into learning their language. They deserved being brought to heel by the Romans.

But their language was beautiful, and flowed like music when spoken properly. He let himself be lost in the sound and the cadence, making sure no one got in Cassianus’ way. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he could go to Athens with Cas?

And with Cassianus reciting yet another ode, they reached the temple without even noticing how time had passed. Even though there were some paintings he wanted to see at the Portico of Philippus that surrounded the temple, like Zeuxis’ Helena, or the famous paintings with scenes from the Trojan War, he feared that Antaeus or Amycus, who’d been shifting the box with his weapons between them, would lose their patience if he dawdled looking at pictures. Perhaps they could do that afterwards.

There was the usual crowd milling around the temple, the beggars and sellers and pilgrims and people with too much free time who’d come to Rome to see the sights. In one corner, there was even a tall, gaunt man dressed in rags who shouted at everyone. A Cynic?

Lucius went up the stairs and approached him, curious.

“Stay away from false idols,” he was shouting. “Repent. The end is near.”

He winced. Not a Cynic, then, but perhaps one of those Jews that saw the end of the world approaching, and prophesied doom for everyone. He’d heard them before, and he didn’t like them.

“There is One God Only, and you will all burn in the fire of His Divine Retribution if you don’t mend your ways. Follow the Path to Life.”

“Nonsense,” someone booed.

“Let him speak,” someone else said. “It’s been a while since I heard such foolishness.”

“The end is coming. The Judge will come, and all His Angels. Turn your hearts towards the Lord, and keep away from false idols.”

“Can you give us the time and date of the coming end?” Another man laughed.

Cassianus sighed. Lucius turned away, and felt the man grab the hem of his tunic. “There is time to be saved yet. Stay away from this place of demons. Follow God’s word.”  
Lucius frowned. Before he could speak, Cassianus knelt down and gently pried away the man’s hand. “You should stay away too,” the man told Cassianus. “This,” he pointed at the temple’s entrance, “is the  
pathway to death, and eternal damnation. Take this road, and burn in Hell.”  
“God has mercy for everyone,” Cassianus said softly. “And His road is paved with goodness, not threats. Leave these men in peace, and they will find God, as God wills it.”

“The Judgement Day is coming. All should prepare.”

“With kindness in their hearts, not fear,” Cassianus insisted.

Lucius leaned down. “He’s like a Zealot. You will never convince him.”  
“There is only wickedness there,” the man continued. “Only deceit, and death. Go there, and lose your soul.” Antaeus cleared his throat. “My arms are tired.” He’d just switched with Amycus again, carrying the box as  
they had started approaching the temple, so Lucius knew he was lying. But it was enough to make  
Cassianus move, glancing back at the man with pity.

“The Lord came to save us all,” he whispered. “He used threats only where advice was not useful, but that is not His way.”

Lucius smiled tightly. So, this was what being Christian was? To see all others as wicked people, condemned to eternal damnation? He noticed Antaeus and Amycus look around, trying to find the priest.  
“We are children in front of God, and sometimes we have to be chastised,” Cassianus continued, oblivious. “How come you can step in here?” Lucius asked him. “Is this not dangerous? For your soul?” If the man  
outside was right, then Lucius was damned, but, who knew what happened after death? Lucius certainly didn’t, and if he went to Hell, so what? He’d killed. Perhaps he deserved this. But Cassianus was not like him. “A place of demons, didn’t he call it?”

“No demon can hurt a member of His flock,” Cassianus answered. “It is only those who are weak in their faith who are in danger. I have no fear, for He is my shepherd.” He smiled a little and pointed at the statue of Hercules surrounded by the nine muses at the narrow end of the temple. “How can stone and metal have power over the living breath of God that moves us? You see a god, but I see a statue.”

Lucius grinned. Amycus had put the box down and was sitting on it, while Antaeus was still trying to find the priest.

Cassianus suddenly took his hand, and Lucius found that he couldn’t look away even if the priest and all the attendants came to him at that moment. “The Lord became flesh and blood because He is kind, and He wants to save us from sin. What that man said… We’re not like that.”

He was a little shaken that Cassianus seemed to understand his innermost thoughts. He smiled, trying to hide his confusion. “I don’t care. If my soul ends up in Hell, so what?”

“You are a good man,” Cassianus said seriously, and Lucius felt like he was a child being chastised. “The Lord, who sees everything, can see the kindness in your heart. And because He is kind, He will not let your soul be tormented.” Cassianus let go off his hand. “Trust in the Lord, like I do, and you will understand.” He pulled back. “I think Antaeus found the priest. Isn’t it time to make your offering?” He smiled without mockery.

Lucius nodded, and moved away. He wasn’t going to become a crazy zealot like the man outside, nor like  
Cassianus, preaching god’s kindness. But if he ever had to choose, he’d go with Cassianus’ god.

&*&*

Instead of going to see the pictures, Lucius went for a bath instead, but Cassianus wouldn’t come with him. He could have ordered him, but what was the point of telling him he was free, only to order him afterwards? And something told him that Antaeus and Amycus would show even less control than he had if anyone dared touch Cassianus. So, he let it pass and tried not to think that Cassianus thought him a good man.

No one thought gladiators were good people. They were pieces of meat for slaughtering or fucking, but they weren’t good. It had taken a special dispensation from the emperor to lift the slur of infamy from him and his brother, but even so, Lucius felt it following him. There was a stain in his soul, and he couldn’t forget it, although he could live with it.  
But he tried not to think about it, and Eros had soft hands, and a softer mouth. He told himself that Eros really wanted him, and did this out of desire, and it was the least he could do to repay Eros for making him forget for a while.

His soul may have been permanently stained, but at least his body was clean when he came back to the house. And he went straight to Gaius. “Do you have Phaedrus?”

“What? Why?”

“Nothing. I want to confirm something.”

Gaius stared at him strangely. “I don’t,” he said, “but your philosopher might. I saw he has a box of books in his room.”

“He does?”

Gaius nodded. “I think his friend gave them to him, or so Hermione claims.” “I see.”  
Gaius stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Phaedrus? Are you sure you’re not in love?” “Fuck you.”  
“They say, it is the book all lovers read. Women read The Republic and men Phaedrus. What am I to think when you want to read it, brother?”

“Nothing.”

Gaius let him go.

“He thinks I’m a good man, Gaius. Me. A good man. I didn’t kill for my country, or my honour. I did it for money. What’s good about that?”

Gaius stared at him, biting his lips. “What’s wrong with you, Lucius?”

“What’s wrong with me? Father wanted us to join the army, remember? He taught us to be honourable, and brave. Not this.” He grimaced.

“Father is dead. And you’re no longer a gladiator.” He looked tired. “It was just a job, Lucius.”

“Well, I don’t think that.” He left his brother certain that they wouldn’t agree even if they talked all night, and went to see if Cassianus did have a copy of Phaedrus.

The door to Cassianus’ room was open but Amycus and Antaeus were playing checkers on the corridor outside. They both brought their fingers to their mouths, ordering him to silence, and let him pass. Lucius grinned, and peeked inside. Cassianus was sitting on the straw mattress, his back against the wall, reading. He looked so focused, and so content, that Lucius couldn’t disturb him. He watched him for a while, smiling when he smiled, and frowning when he frowned. And then he went back to his room, ignoring the hushed snickers and knowing looks Antaeus and Amycus shared.

That night Cassianus forgot to leave his room again, but Lucius wouldn’t be envious of a book. And in the morning, he walked all the way to Claudianus’ house. He didn’t know what to expect, but he hoped that perhaps the man would be glad to have some news of his son. He promised to himself that if Claudianus showed any signs of missing Cassianus, then he’d ask Claudianus to take him back. He wouldn’t keep them apart.

The slave at the entrance stared at him for a while, and then didn’t let him move forward, but sent instead a message to the senator. Lucius stood by, watching as the senator’s clients came in while he was made to wait. “I just want to talk to your Master,” he said, but it was to no avail. The slave might as well have been deaf.  
“The Master will not talk to you,” someone suddenly said. It was a massive slave, as big as Amycus perhaps, although he looked like he’d come from the other edge of the empire. “Go.”

“I need to talk to him. It’s about his son.”

“The Master has no son.” The big slave blocked the entrance with his body, and the one guarding the gate hid behind him.

Lucius shifted, trying to see if he could squeeze in somehow. “I remember you,” he shouted to the slave he saw peeking behind a half-closed door, curious and timid at the same time. “You cried when I took Cassianus with me.”

That mountain of a man punched him. “And I remember you,” he said viciously. “What more do you want? Was it not enough to ask for the Young Master as your prize, you shameless prick? I’d wish the earth would swallow you whole, only that would be too kind a fate for you. May beasts devour your flesh, and your soul never finds rest upon this world.”

Lucius held his stomach. He wished Cassianus didn’t have so many defenders, or that he could convince them of his innocence on the matter. “Cassianus would never curse a soul,” he muttered, spitting. “I just want to ask a favour,” he said.

“Get lost and die,” the slave told him, pushing him out of the entrance. Then he slammed the door shut. That went well.  
But Fortune was on his side. On his way back to the house, he came across Marcus and his retinue. Stupid show-off was probably going to the baths. Lucius managed to catch his attention, although he didn’t like that he had to start a brawl to do that. The things he did for Cassianus.

At least Marcus talked to him. In a haughty tone and even more arrogant expression, but he didn’t care. “What do you want?”

“Books.”

Marcus froze and gaped for a moment. When he remembered to close his mouth, he looked around to see if anyone had noticed his lapse. “Books?” he asked later, as if he’d never been surprised enough to behave like a plebeian. “You can read?”

He glared. “Not for me. For Cassianus. He must have had books in his father’s house, right? I don’t know what to buy him, and he…” Cassianus would tell him to spend the money on others.

Marcus’ expression softened. “Come with me,” he said, “and tell me everything.”

So Lucius did. Go with him to the Baths, that is, not tell him everything. During a game of ball, he said how grateful he was that Marcus had given Cassianus books as presents. In the luke-warm pool, he said that he’d never seen Cassianus happier than when he was with his books. In the hot pool, he was too warm to speak, but he still praised Marcus’ kindness and friendship towards Cassianus, and in the cold pool he only stayed long enough to cool his flesh, and so said nothing.

And during the massage, while Narcissus tended to his master and another young slave, Hyacinth, massaged his skin with the most subtly fragrant oil, he begged. “Can you get his books from Claudianus? I think he misses them.”

Marcus stared at him shrewdly. “No one misses inanimate objects.”  
“Have you seen him with books? Of course you have. You know I’m right. Please? For his sake, not mine.” Marcus stared at him without saying a word. But three days later, he arrived with his retinue, and even more  
slaves behind him. A slave announced his presence with a silencing gesture. “Greetings,” Marcus said loudly, staring disapprovingly at Lucius. Cassianus was going through their expenses with Gaius and they were both sitting in the courtyard murmuring with several tablets spread between them. Marcus clearly didn’t like it.

Lucius shrugged. What could he do? It was either find something for Cassianus to do, or have him stare  
sadly around, whining occasionally. He had chosen the smaller of two evils, and since Amycus and Antaeus approved, he wouldn’t care what the stuck-up prick thought.

“Dear Julius,” he said, lifting Cassianus up, completely ignoring Lucius and his brother, and how the courtyard wasn’t big enough for all his attendants. “I brought you a gift.”

Cassianus frowned. “I require no gifts. I am…”

“You’re not,” Marcus and Lucius said at the same time. They stared at each other. “It’s your books,” Marcus said. “Some of them, anyway.”  
Cassianus whispered, “My books?” with such an expression of surprise and hope that Lucius couldn’t stand it. He ruffled his hair, and Cassianus startled, and pulled back, but still too hopeful to be affronted. “My books?” he said again.

“Your essential books,” Marcus said solemnly.

Lucius looked at the slaves carrying the crates, and counted them. All twenty of them. “Is this what you call essential?”

Marcus glared at Lucius. “Is there a problem?” “None at all.”  
Gaius laughed. “At least, now we’ll have a decent library in the house.” Of course he wouldn’t mind. Cassianus shared his books with him.

Marcus frowned, looking around. “I see no suitable room. Where will you put them?”

Lucius snorted. “Now you see my problem. Well, it’s not a problem, not at all,” he added, glancing at  
Cassianus. He almost smiled in gratitude and Lucius grinned. “Let’s see where we can put them.” “You will need to change houses,” Marcus told him with authority. “This is not adequate at all.”  
“It’s not bad,” Lucius protested. “I’m not the senator’s son,” he muttered under his breath.

“I think it’s fine,” Cassianus whispered to him, touching him briefly on the arm. “Thank you for letting me have my books.”

“You should be thanking Marcus. He’s the one who arranged it, after all.” Lucius tried hard to hide the bitterness from his voice, because Marcus had succeeded where he had failed.

“Maybe,” Cassianus told him, still in the same quiet tone. He stepped forward so he could face Lucius. “You are my...”  
Lucius swallowed. “I’m not,” he said, placing his finger on his lips. “Don’t ever say that again.” Cassianus’ eyes widened. All of heaven was in his stare, magnificent and all-encompassing, and Lucius  
wanted nothing but to stay under that blue sky forever.

Gaius coughed. When Lucius looked at him, he snorted. You definitely are not in love with him, Gaius’ expression mocked him. Marcus seemed equally amused, and understanding. “I think this should be a good place to store them,” Gaius said, pointing to the smaller dining room.

“Until you find a better place to live,” Marcus repeated. Cassianus moved away from Lucius. “Here?”  
“It’s not like we ever use it. We don’t have that many guests, nor can our guests be divided into patrician and plebeians,” Gaius said, smiling. “No need to host them in separate rooms.” He turned towards Lucius. “Whatever had we been thinking, getting a house with two of them?”  
“We were thinking of using one as a permanent triclinium,” Lucius mumbled.

Marcus gave him a condescending look. “Here,” he ordered his slaves and directed them towards the room. “You will need shelves and bookcases, but for the time being, everything can be put on the floor or the tables. I will send you my carpenter and builders tomorrow.”

“That is greatly appreciated. I cannot repay you, but...”

Marcus interrupted Cassianus. “Anything for you, my dearest child.” He sighed, still smiling. “I can never replace your brother, but for the affection we both share for him, let me act as he would have.”

Cassianus smiled back. “I would like nothing more than to call you Brother.”

Marcus suddenly embraced him. “If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to ask.” “I will,” Cassianus said.  
Lucius knew he was lying. He glanced at Marcus, and saw that the other man knew it too. Cassianus would never ask for anything, just as he hadn’t asked for his beloved books. He nodded at Marcus, promising with his eyes that he would ask for anything Cassianus might need, and Lucius could not provide.

“You sure you’ve not been hit by one of Cupid’s arrows? They’re sharp and painful, yet often one does not feel their sting at first.”

“Shut up, Gaius.” Lucius actually elbowed his brother, and kept his voice as low as Gaius’. “I’m only doing what is right. That,” he said and pointed at Cassianus, discussing something with Marcus in hushed tones, “that is a patrician. I have no right to call him my possession, and I won’t treat him like a slave.”  
“Because he’s useless and beyond any hope of learning?” Gaius laughed and jumped away from Lucius’ fist. Lucius chased him around the courtyard, sliding between Marcus’ men, and would have caught him, if he  
hadn’t been chastised to stillness by Marcus’ glare. Gaius, though, ignored the other man, hit Lucius on the back of the head, and then ran out of the house. Annoying child.

“I should be going too,” Marcus said loudly, embracing Cassianus one more time. “You know I am...”  
Marcus kissed Cassianus briefly on the mouth, and even though Lucius knew it was meant as a gesture of leave-taking, of brotherly affection, and making Cassianus stop talking, he still hated it. Marcus noticed, smiled at him with kindness, and then clapped his hands once. The slaves lined up, the attendants surrounded him, looking around them menacingly. “Health to you,” Marcus told them both, and then left, the sound of his footsteps lost among the clamour of his entourage.

Amycus and Antaeus sighed. “It is time to go,” Antaeus said.

Cassianus nodded. “Marcus said he needs you,” he said not bothering to hide his sadness. Amycus stared at Lucius, threatening and concerned at the same time. “He does,” he said. Lucius knew it was a lie. He nodded, promising to be worthy of their trust.  
“Time to go,” Antaeus said again, perhaps because Cassianus looked like he wanted to hug them, but his pride would not permit it. “I know where you live,” he said to Lucius threateningly. “Don’t think we won’t be back.”

Cassianus bit back a smile. “My door is open.”  
“If it’s not, we’ll break it,” Antaeus promised.

Lucius grinned as they left. “They will be checking up on you,” he said, and Cassianus nodded happily.  
“I wonder which books he has brought me,” Cassianus said a moment later, his voice and body under control again. He went to the room and sank to the floor, kneeling and looking around him like he didn’t know where to start.

He followed him and smiled. “You have a good friend there.”

“I know.” A moment later he moved from kneeling to sitting cross-legged, relaxed and without caring if he acted like a plebeian and not like a senator’s spoilt and over-educated son that he was. He still looked indecisive.

Lucius joined him on the floor. “So, these are your essential books?” he smiled.

Cassianus pulled the crate closest to him, and opened it carefully. “I already had my essential books.” “Did you?” Lucius laughed at his self-satisfied expression. “Which were they?”  
“The Memories of Jesus, of course, and Paul’s letters,” he answered as if Lucius shouldn’t have asked a pointless question with an obvious answer.

“Ah, yes, of course.” Every cult member had to have his sacred texts. “And these?”

“These are my philosophy books.” Cassianus lifted up a scroll and checked the tag at the side. “Oh. The comments on Chrysippus’ On the Nature of the Soul. Oh.” He unwrapped it with a deftness that Gaius would envy, and then started rolling it open, eyes jumping up and down the text.

Lucius watched him, smiling once more. He could be there or in a different city, for all Cassianus cared. Suddenly the book in his hands was the most important thing in his life, and Lucius envied the scroll. He wanted to be held with the same gentleness, and looked at with the same obsession and... “Oh,” he said. Fuck. Gaius was right. He was in love.

Cassianus looked up. “You agree with Chrysippus?” “Not really.”  
“Oh, good. I don’t agree with him either.” He put the scroll down and peered inside the crate. “I wonder if  
Marcus had my own texts brought over.” “Were you working on something?”  
He ignored the books, and turned towards Lucius. “I was.” “What?”  
Cassianus smiled. “You’ll find it boring.” “Try me.”  
Cassianus shifted to kneeling, and then moved closer to Lucius. “You know how Chrysippus says that the soul is corporeal? And that when people die, the pneuma, that is what the soul is made of, will be extinguished according to the person’s virtue? The souls of the bodies continue, but the lesser ones for a little time, the more powerful ones until the final immolation.” Cas finished, quoting the passage in Greek.

“How does he define a soul as lesser or powerful?”

Cas smiled so brightly, Lucius stopped breathing for a second. “Depending on a person’s virtue, or wisdom. Chrysippus actually thinks only the souls of the wise will last that long. Cleanthes, though, says that as virtue and wisdom are not equal to all, so the souls are unequal, and so each soul will last for a longer or fewer  
time depending on the person’s virtue.”

“I see. Were you writing an epitome of their sayings on the nature of the soul?”

Cas moved even closer. “I was writing on the nature of pneuma and its intrinsic qualities. Since pneuma is  
not a substance that can be measured or seen or weighted, then it must be made of air. Yet, since it can change and learn, it has qualities similar to that of fire.”

“Fascinating.” Cas too seemed made of fire, or maybe air, his happiness too great now that he had his books again, and could go back to writing his treatise.

“Yet, one cannot only strive for virtue. One must also accept the teachings of Christ if one wants to be free from the tyranny of fear and death. And it is this revealed wisdom that is the fuel to keep a soul burning until the end of times, and our final resurrection. That is the true nature of the immolation, and Chrysippus was right; it will happen once, but he was wrong in saying that God was outside it. God is part of it.”

“I see.” Lucius smiled. “Why do you need Chrysippus for that?”

“Because he is right in saying that a soul is corporeal and that it’s hot and burning. He’s wrong, though, in thinking that only the souls of those he considers wise can live until the final immolation. Cleanthes too is wrong in thinking that virtue can be measured, and that the measure of virtue will correspond to a soul’s survival after the body’s death.”

“Hm. It would be easier if you just accepted that the soul is immortal to begin with.” Not that he cared much about the state of his soul after death anyway.

“But it can’t be corporeal and immortal.”

“Why? If you cannot define pneuma or its qualities, who is to say that pneuma is not immortal?”

Cassianus stared at him. “Hm,” he finally said, and placed his hand on Lucius’ shoulder to steady himself as he stood up. “You prefer the Academy to the Stoa,” he told Lucius, smoothing his tunic.

Lucius pressed the heel of his right palm to the floor and pushed himself up. There were many things he could admire in Plato, like how he acknowledged the purity of love between men, especially now that he too had fallen in love with one. And even though he hadn’t read Phaedrus, he was certain Plato would agree with him. But he didn't say that.

"I ought to put everything in order instead of reading," Cassianus said, surveying the room. "I'll leave you to it, then."  
Cassianus looked at him strangely. His lips moved for a second, but then he looked away from Lucius, his mouth a thin, stern line.

Lucius walked out of the room, wondering if he should have stayed. But Cas probably wanted to be alone with his books. He would respect that.

&**

That night Cassianus came to his bedroom later than usual, so late that Lucius had suspected that he’d  
fallen asleep in the middle of his books again, and didn’t expect him anymore. He stood at the door of Lucius’  
bedroom, holding a lamp close to him. The light cast a golden hue on his skin, and made his eyes look darker, more stormy sea than bright sky. He was a statue made of warm ivory, not pale marble and Lucius wanted to touch him more than anything.

Cassianus looked at the place by the foot of the bed, where Lucius had never let him sleep. And then he stared at Lucius, who was getting ready to bed.

Lucius took off his tunic, and threw it on the floor. “Don’t tell me you want to sleep there,” he sighed. “Or, do you want to sleep in your room?” It was an awful room, but it was his, and Cassianus had been using it recently. Lucius forced himself to smile. “Do you prefer to sleep with your books? Keep them company all night?”

Cassianus looked at the floor. “I was already with them all day,” he said softly, smiling. In the half-darkness around him, his smile looked brighter, dispelling the shadows.

Lucius was glad for the darkness that surrounded him. Next thing he knew, he’d be writing poetry. “Then?”  
He sat at the edge of the bed.

He stared at Lucius. “Could I sleep with you?”

Lucius stilled. He couldn’t even breathe for a few moments. “I....” He tightened his hands into fists, and the nails bit into his palms. “If you want.”

Cas blew on the flame, and the wick made a soft, hissing sound as the light died out. Lucius’ nostrils flared at the sudden, sharp scent of burned flax threads and oil. He moved back, and settled in his side of the bed, while he heard Cas put down the lamp and then walk slowly towards him. By the time his eyes had adjusted to the dark, Cas was already on the bed. Lucius could see him, sitting upright and still. He could hear him, breathing softly.

“I wanted to thank you,” Cas said as he slid down. There was another small, rustling noise as he pulled the blanket towards him.

Lucius swallowed. Cassianus had never shared the covers with him. “You don’t have to,” he said, and he meant it. He didn’t want Cas to have sex with him because he was grateful. He wanted Cas to sleep with him because he loved him.

“I do.” Cas turned around.

Lucius wished Cas had kept the lamp lit; it was frustrating to see so little of the man he loved. Frustrating to hear him, voice rough and low, and yet not see the sweetness of his visage. “You don’t...”

Cas snorted, and Lucius shut up. He lay still, waiting for Cas’ next move, his whole body tensing, his muscles locking in anticipation. Cas had bewitched him, to make him feel so weak.

“There is no word in Latin for affection,” Cas said, saying the Greek word instead. “Nor for affectionate.” Again with the Greek.

Lucius swallowed. How was he supposed to answer? Was he expected to act? “You have proven most affectionate towards me.”  
Was this the moment where Cas would proclaim his gratitude again, and then express it with a kiss? Perhaps a little, sweet one, with parted lips, that would give Lucius permission to explore the treasures of Cassianus’ mouth?

“Where did you learn Greek?” Lucius hit his pillow in frustration. “Lucius?”  
He stilled again. Cassianus had never called him anything, except ‘Master’ or ‘Lord’ and then always mockingly, or with hatred. Once he started feeling more comfortable, he stopped calling him 'Master' altogether. “Doesn’t everyone know Greek?”

Cas huffed. It was a sound of amusement. “In Jerusalem.”  
“Oh. I thought it would have been in Pergamon.”

“I went there later.” Cassianus wouldn’t kiss him; not that night. Realising that made replying easier, made his desire not lessen, but become tolerable.

“Why were you in Jerusalem?”

“My father was there in the emperor’s service.” That sounded better than saying he was in the army. Lucius smiled. They had been happy there, even if he always got in fights with other kids his age and his father had had to teach him how to be a man long before he started exercising in the gymnasium.  
Cassianus made a soft, tired sound.

“It was beautiful,” Lucius told him, lowering his voice further. “It was this warm in the winter, and in the summer you couldn’t move from the heat during the day. There was this fountain, and,” Lucius smiled, remembering all the stories about the foolish old geezers who had been waiting for a miracle at the sides way back when at the same place, when Jerusalem was still Jewish. “They had said that an angel used to come down every now and then, and stir the waters.”

 

Cassianus smiled. “Siloam,” he mumbled.

“That’s it. The Pool of Siloam. And when he visited the pool, whoever jumped in first, would be healed from any disease.”

Another small, tired, but happy sound.

Lucius felt confident enough to ruffle Cassianus’ hair. When Cassianus didn’t protest, or pull back, he slid his hand down, trailing his fingers along the downy softness of his hair, the slight stubble on his cheeks. And he stopped when he reached Cassianus’ soft neck, and could feel the pulse of Cassianus’ heart beating  
beneath the heel of his palm, calm and relaxed.

“It was a beautiful sight,” Lucius continued even more softly. “Clad in white marble, with...” Cassianus’ heartbeat slowed a little and Lucius stopped. Cassianus wouldn’t have liked hearing about the scantily dressed nymphs whose statues decorated the pool.

Was he more foolish now, that he knew he was in love, and had submitted himself to the cruellest master of them all? Cassianus was as bad as those heartless boys who never looked at their suitors, and for  
whom poets wrote either scathing songs, or bitter complaints. Or should he consider himself lucky, that he’d found a youth so pure that couldn’t even recognize love, and Lucius would teach him everything about the art of loving?

He really couldn’t decide. But then again, did it matter? What mattered was that his desire was there, in his bed, sleeping peacefully beside him. And one day, Cassianus would look back, with nothing but love in his eyes. Until then, Lucius would wait, as quiet and patient as a hunter tracking down a fawn, making no sudden moves, and showing little of himself. What had Ovid said? Let love steal in disguised as friendship?

Now that Lucius knew his condition, he also knew the cure.


End file.
